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ALABAMA WOMEN IN LITERATURE. 



MARY LaF/WETTE ROBBINS. 



"11 a book come from the heart, it will contrive to reach otlier hearts: all 
art ami aiithorcraft are of small amount to that."— Caklyle. 







^f^^8 1898 



1^95- 



.6-CLWv^- 



c^^ 



/^SA3^v^ 



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(L,^a 



Coi'YRIGHT. 1895. 

By Marv LaFayette Robbins. 



Sclina I'rintin? Co. 



J^ 



To the Women of Alabama y who are endeavoring to 
learn and disseminate the best that is known and thought 
in the world; and to their co-workers, who, in prose and 
verse are diffusing the stueetness and light of higher 
culture. 



INTRODUCTION. 



The making of this book has been a labor of love. 

The purpose of the volume is to make known the 
efforts Alabama women are putting forth in behalf of 
intellectual development; to show what they have wrought 
in literature; and. incidently, to disprove the premises 
which lie at the root of all misgivings concerning the 
future of womanhood. 

In regard to the woman question the prophecies of 
yesterday have become the realities of to-day. 

The intellect of woman has been awakened, and her 
energies have been quickened to an extent but dimly fore- 
shadowed when the first institutions for her higher educa- 
tion were founded. The vision of a seer, or the acumen of 
a savant are no longer required, to discern the changed 
conditions which confront her in the closing years of the 
nineteenth century. 

It is the opinion of the writer that the recipients of 
its advantages may find opportunities for usefulness in 
distinctively womanly directions. The facts, herein 
recorded, are presented as arguments in favor of this 
position. 



INTRODUCTION. 

The idea, that greater privileges, and graver responsi- 
bilities have evolved a new woman, radically different 
from the original one, is altogether a mistake. An error, 
which has tempted woman into paths, for which she 
is by nature unfitted. But evidences of misdirected 
forces may be found in every era of unrest; and no 
student of history will regard such instances a rational 
basis for doubting that "the common sense of most shall 
hold a fretful realm in awe." 

The one, wholesome truth, embodied in the 
so-called woman problem, is the. fact that idleness is 
subversive of the well-being of every individual. Out of 
this truth arises a query worthy of every thoughtful 
woman's consideration. The question, what may she do 
without stepping outside of her proper environment. 

It is not within the scope of this undertaking to deal 
with the various phases of the question, but simply to point 
out a field of labor which unquestionably appertains to 
her sphere of action. 

In his essay on culture, Mathew Arnold, speaking of 
Lessing and Herder, says : " Generations will pass, and 
literary monuments will accumulate, and works far 
more perfect than the works of Lessing and Herder will 
be produced in Germany; and yet the names of these two 
men will fill a German with a reverence and enthusiasm 
such as the names of the-most gifted masters will hardly 
awaken. And why? Because they humanized knowl- 
edge; because they broadened the basis of life and intel- 



INTRODUCTION 

ligence; because they worked powerfully to make reason 
and the will of God prevail." 

The work, inaugurated by these two eminent critics 
in the eighteenth century, is being carried on in the 
present, by the movement which finds its expression in 
literary organizations. These clubs afford opportunities 
for activity essentially adpated to the capacities and 
limitations of woman. 

The number of literary clubs, composed entirely of 
women, reveals how thoroughly the modern woman 
appreciates such an outlet for her energies. 

Thirty years ago Alabama womanhood could claim 
only one representative in the world of letters — Augusta 
Evans Wilson. The material, of which this volume is 
largely composed, shows how rapidly the advantages of 
higher education, and the exigencies of a more complex life 
have developed a tendency in the direction of literature. 

This striking contrast, between the past and the 
present, plainly indicates that the woman of the future 
will seek employment in womanly ways. 

The present account of the literary clubs of the State, 
if not a complete record, is the most comprehensive one 
hitherto compiled. 

The list of contributors, though it does not include 
every well-known name, comprises a goodly number. 
Grateful acknowledgment is made to the clientele, who 
have so cordially responded to every demand upon their 
time and talents. M. LaF. R. 

Seimn, Alabama, November, 1S95. 



CONTENTS 



CLUBS. 

The Alabama Federation of Literary Clubs 5 

The Cadmean Circle 9 

The Highland Book Club 19 

The Clionian Circle 21 

St. Paul's Biblical and Literary Society 23 

The Nineteenth Century Club 21; 

The Pierian Literar}- Society 26 

The Kettledrum 28 

The Hill Literary Circle 32 

The Saturday Shakespear Club 33 

The Poets' Circle 35 

The Round Table 3^ 

The New Century Club 37 

The Chautauqua Literary Circle 3^ 

The Pierian Circle 3^ 

The Progressive Cultuie Club of Decatur 39 

The Studiosis 40 

The Young Ladies' Literary Society 43 

The Peep O'Day Club 45 

The Argus Club 4^ 

The Highland City Book Club 47 

The No Name Club 48 

The Shakespeare C hib 49 

The Prattville Kettledrm 5° 

The Inter Se Club 5' 

Tne Mobile Reading Club 55 

Our Reading Circle 53 

The Thursday Literary Circle 55 

SELECTION'S. 

From " At The Mercy of Tiberius " ^>i 

From "Marston Hall" S3 

From "Affinities" S7 

From "Gleanings From Southland" 89 

From 'Katydid's Poems" 92 

Padre Felipo 93 

Sellin' Ole Master 102 



CONTENTS. 

The Beast That Bought Me .' 109 

The Writing Master at Brier Patch 122 

Alabama .• 127 

Pomegranates 12S 

The New Man 129 

How to Rule a Husband 131 

The Alabama River 134 

Circumstance 135 

The Magic Comb 136 

Lake Conchicking 146 

Mingo 147 

Psyche . 154 

The Minister's Busv Day 154 

A Domestic Traged\' 157 

At Dawn 160 

About Women 160 

The Fin De Siecle Girl [63 

Woman in Philanthropy 164 

Rusticalities 16S 

Inspiration 178 

Edelweiss 17S 

Valedictory to St. Joseph's 179 

The Organ- Master ... .181 

The School Room 192 

Woman in Shakespeare 194 

"'The Ring and the Book" 199 



RECORD OF CLUBS. 



" Titer e are many virtues in books — but the essential 
value is the adding of knowledge to our stock, by the record 
of nezv facts, and, better, by the record of institutions, zvhich 
distribute facts, and are the formulas zvhich supersede all 
histories. ' ' — E merson. 

THE ALABAMA FEDERATION OF LITERARY CLUBS. 

In February, 1895, the President, Vice-President, and 
Secretary of the Cadmean Circle invited the women's 
literary clubs of Alabama to send representatives to a 
convention in Birmingham, for the purpose of forming a 
State Federation. 

Mrs. J. C. Hildreth, in the Boston Woman's Journal, 
says : 

"On April 17, representatives from various clubs in 
the State, all purely literary, convened in Birmingham, 
in order to form a State Federation. The call was made 
by the Cadmean Circle, of Birmingham, a club of seven 
years' growth, and a brilliant coterie of intellectual women, 
who would do honor to any city. Birmingham might be 
called a city of clubs, its organizations are so numerous. 

Selma, Tuscaloosa, Montgomery, and New Decatur 
sent representatives. 



6 RECORD OF CLUBS. 

The Convention met in the parlors of the Presbyterian 
church on the South Highlands, one of the aristocratic 
suburbs. Mrs. Geo. C. Ball, President of the Cadmean 
Circle, welcomed the guests in a cordial and winning 
manner. Tne writer replied on behalf of the clubs. Mrs. 
Sterling A. Wood, of Montgomery, was elected President 
of the Convention, and fully justified the choice by the 
tact and dignity with which she presided. A very earnest 
and full discussion of the purposes of the convention was 
had on the first day. Arguments for and against federa- 
tion were advanced, Miss Mary LaFayette Robbins, of 
Selma, reading a strong paper in favor of the movement. 
A number of subjects which were inimical to the success 
of a federation were brough forward, and thoroughly and 
sensibly talked over. The State Federation was fully 
organized, however, with Miss Mary LaFayette Robbins, 
of Selma, as President ; Mrs. Geo. B. Eager, of Mont 
gomery, Vice-President ; Mrs. John D. Wyker, of Decatur? 
Corresponding Secretary ; Mrs. Geo. L. Haven, of Bir- 
mingham, Recording Secretary; and Mrs. Sterling A. 
Wood, of Montgomery, Treasurer. 

Upon request of Mrs. Sterling A. Wood, who 
occupied the chair, representatives gave a brief account of 
the organization, literary and social features, and other 
matters of interest pertaining to their respective clubs. 

Mrs. Wyker reported for the Progressive Culture 
Club, of Decatur; Mrs. Geo. B. Eager for the No Name 
Club, of Montgomery ; Miss Katharine HoUey for the 
Thursday Literary Circle, of Selma; Mrs. W. C. Jemison 
for the Kettledrum, of Tuscaloosa ; Mrs. Geo. M. Cruik- 
shank for the Clionian Circle; Mrs. Geo. C. Ball for the 
Cadmean Circle; Mrs. R. D. Johnston for the Book Club; 



RECORD OF CLUBS. 7 

and Mrs. Joseph McLester for the literary societies of the 
Pollock-Stephens Institute, 

A general discussion of Southern literature, led by 
Miss Allen, took place just before the close of the 
convention. 

The writer does not remember to have ever attended 
a convention which was more delightful, pleasanter in its 
disagreements, and more lovely in its harmony ; differing 
in lively interest, and settling down solidly and frankly 
when a decision was reached. It is a bright picture in 
memory ; the graceful, intelligent women who sat in that 
cosy hall, the light from the beautiful stained glass 
vindows falling upon the many brilliant eyes and sweet 
vomanly faces, and touching with tender pathos the 
iitent, earnest figures." 

The constitution and by-laws adopted by the conven- 
tion was as follows: 

CONSTITUTION. 

ARTICLE I. 

This Association shall be known as the Alabama 
Federation of Women's Literary Clubs. 

ARTICLE II. 

Its object shall be to bring together for mutual help, 
for intellectual improvement, and for social union the 
diferent Women's Literary Clubs of the State. 

ARTICLE III. — MEMBERSHIP. 

Section i. Clubs desiring to join the Federation 
must make application for membership, accompanied 
by their constitution and by-laws, to the corresponding 
sec"etary, subject to the approval of the executive board. 



8 RECORD OF CLUBS. 

Sec. 2. Constitutions of clubs applying for member- 
ship must show that their purpose is not sectarian or 
political, but distinctively literary or scientific. 

Sec. 3. Individual clubs only shall be eligible to 
join the State Federation. Clubs in their associated 
capacity, as city or sectional leagues, shall not be eligible. 

ARTICLE IV. 

The meeting of the State Federation shall take 
place every year in the month of May. The place and 
date of meeting shall be decided by the executive board. 

ARTICLE V. — OFFICERS. / 

I 
The general officers shall consist of a president, 
vice-president, recording secretary, corresponding secrej 
tary, and treasurer, and a director for each club, to bt 
selected by each club. These shall constitute the execu- 
tive board, which shall transact any business that may 
required, and make a full report at each meeting. 

ARTICLE IV. 

This constitution may be amended at any meetiijg 
of the State Federation, the proposed amendments 
having been submitted for approval to the board ^f 
directors, and notice of the same appended to the call |)f 
the meetingf. 



BY-LAWS. 

I. This Association shall not, as a whole, become 
auxiliary to anv organization without the unanimcus 
concurrence of the clubs comprising the State Fe(e- 
ration, but any individual club belonging to the Federa- 
tion may do so. 

II. The general officers shall be elected annually. 
No woman shall hold office for more than two conse(|u- 
tive terms. 



RECORD OF CLUBS 9 

III. The annual dues for each club shall be an 
assessment of one dollar for every ten members. 

IV. A quorum of the executive board shall consist 
of five members. 

V. These by-laws may be amended at any meeting 
of the State Federation by a two thirds vote, notice of 
the proposed amendments having been appended to the 
call of the meeting; or, without such previous notice, the 
by-laws may be amended at any annual meeting by 
unanimous vote. 

The constitution and by-laws were signed by repre- 
sentatives of the following clubs : Highland Book Club, 
Cadmean Circle, Clionian Circle, Pollock-Stephens Alumni 
Association, Hippocrenean Literary Society, Pierian 
Literary Society of Birmingham, No Name Club, of 
Montgomery, Progressive Culture Club of Decatur, Thurs- 
day Literary Circle, of Selma. 

THE CADMEAN CIRCLE. 
MRS. JOSEPH Molester. 



CHRONICLES OF THE CADMEAN CIRCLE— THE PIONEER 
CLUB OF BIRMINGHAM — FOUNDED BV MRS. WILLIAM 
HARDIE. 

CHAPTER L 

To the Women of the South, Greeting : 

Peace be multiplied unto you, and wisdom showered 
upon you ! Be it known unto you. that a decree hath 
gone forth that the book of the Chronicles of the Cad- 
mean Circle be given unto me to open and write therein, 
all that which hath befallen this band of women since that 
autumn day when first they said one to another, " Come, 



lO RECORD OF CLUBS. 

let US seek for wisdom as for hid treasure." All their 
studies and that which they have done must I write 
therein with the pen of truth. 

Now it came to pass, that there arose in Uncle 
Sam's Land, a fair city, guarded on the north and on the 
south by the everlasting hills. And the fame of that city 
had gone abroad, for it was said that Pactolus with its 
glittering sands, encompassed it about, and many were 
the men who came hither with their flocks and herds, 
their wives and little ones. And lo ! from the bowels of 
the earth they drew vast treasures until many of them 
were become as Croesus, for riches. 

Now it was in the year eighteen hundred and eighty- 
eight, in the last year of the reign of Grover, Thomas 
Seay being Governor, and nearly a score of years having 
passed over that great city, that it came to pass that one 
fair woman, who dwelt therein, said to her friends and 
neighbors, " Go to, let us establish among ourselves a 
society, that we may aid each other in our search for 
wisdom whose price is above rubies." And it was done 
as she had said, and they called themselves " The Saturday 
Literary Circle," which they did afterwards change to 
" The Cadmean Circle". A score and a half did they 
number of women of most excellent understanding. And 
they said, " The minds of young maidens are prone to 
levity as the sparks fly upward ; therefore we will have 
no foolish virgins among us ; but choose for our members, 
women of sobriety and discretion." And they cast 
lots for ofificers to rule over them ; and they chose for 
leader, Cynthia Stephens, a learned and discreet woman. 
And they said unto her, '• Come now we beseech 
thee, and guide our eager steps in wisdom's ways. 



RECORD OF CLUBS. II 

and we will give thee a certain sum of money, for verily 
the laborer is worthy of his hire." Now when she had 
consented, they took counsel together and said, " There 
is much learning in these days. Of the making of many 
books, there is no end. They are for number, as the red- 
hued leaves that fall in Vallombrosa. What then shall 
we study for our instruction, and upon whose words shall 
we meditate?" And it was said, " Lo ! here is one, 
Shakspeare, a quaint fellow, full of wit and wisdom. Have 
not the people of all nations crowned him with an 
unfading wreath of bay? And shall it not profit us to 
to study this poet ? " And with one accord, they all 
consented ; and for eight moons, one day in every seven, 
did they meet and meditate upon his marvelous words. 
And their custom was to assemble themselves together 
at the house of each woman of the Circle in her turn, 
and she, with whom they did meet, spread for them, each 
time, a feast. 

Now, when on the rosary of the year, the months 
had been counted o'er until they come to June, the Month 
of Roses, they did disband until th^ cool winds of autumn 
should blow again. But first they made a great feast, 
and bid thereto, their husbands and friends. And the 
hours took unto themselves wings and flew away, full of 
pleasure, like bees, from a flower garden, laden with 
honey. 

Now, when in the beginning of this year, they cast 
lots for oflficers to rule over them, the first lot fell on 
Lucy Martin, whom they made President; and for Vice- 
President, the lot fell on Susan Hardie ; and for the 
Keeper of the Records, on Margaret Ward, 



12 RECORD OF CLUBS. 

CHAPTER II. 

And now when the harvest time had come, once 
more did this band of women assemble themselves 
together. And they had for leader that year, Alice 
Woodward, a woman " Wise as a serpent and harmless as 
a dove." And she said unto them, " I have been one of 
those who have gone down to the sea in great ships. I 
have been a stranger in many strange lands. I have stood 
in the streets of Rome, the Eternal City. I have viewed 
her wondrous ruins. I have pondered the words of her 
wise men, and shall we not gain much knowledge by the 
study of that which hath befallen this mighty Empire?" 
And they all said unto her, " Do unto us that which 
seemeth good in thy sight." And they applied themselves 
diligently to learn. And they saw, as in a glass, the little 
village on the yellow Tiber, grow into the Mistress of the 
World. They saw her legions bear their eagles on to 
victory. They spake with her wise men and her men of 
valor. They gazed in wonder at her Coliseum, and at 
Nero's gilded house, and they trembled when they saw 
hei, hoary with antiquity, totter from her throne, and "fall, 
like Lucifer, never to hope again." And when they would 
again bid each other farewell for a season, they made a 
banquet as before, and with mirth and laughter and 
friendly words, they parted the one from the other. 

Now the officers for this second year, were: Margaret 
Sage, President ; Emma Johnston, Vice-President ; and 
Margaret Ward, Secretary and Treasurer. 

CHAPTER III. 

And now, behold ! the trees had put on their gar- 
ments of red and gold, and the hoar frost had slain the 
flowtrs when these women said among themselves, "Is 



RECORD OF CLUBS. 1 3 

not this the appointed season when we shall begin anew 
to seek wisdom ?" And when they were gathered together, 
they chose for leader, one, Ella Allen, a wise woman and 
" comely as the tents of Kedar," And she said, " An 
hundred years ago, there lived many mighty and wise 
men. The wisdom which they have garnered up for us, 
shall we not avail ourselves of it, and by meditation upon 
their words, make it our own ?" And they made answer, 
"As thou sayest, O Ella, will we do." And they began 
with one, Pope, who was esteemed a mighty man of letters 
in those days, and then they passed on to Goldsmith, to 
Garrick, the great actor, to Johnson, the sage and critic, to 
the melancholy Cowper, and to that gentle Lamb, whose 
name did so fittingly represent his character, to that 
strange genius Swift, to Addison, to Dryden, and to 
divers writers of novels, to a certain Walter Scott, and to 
that great poet, who "touched his harp and nations stood 
entranced." 

Now, whenever the women of the circle agreed not 
among themselves, touching any of these matters, then 
did the leader appoint a time to reason together concern- 
ing the subject. And she did choose from their number 
women excellent in wisdom and skillful in warfare to 
speak. And they bore in their hands the spear of argu- 
ment, while their quivers were full of the arrows of 
eloquence. And judges had they to decide the matter. 
Now it entered into the heart of Ella, the' leader, to make 
these women like unto Demosthenes for eloquence, and 
she said, "There be many among them who wield the pen 
of a ready writer, why not also the tongue of a ready 
speaker? To this end shall they speak before me, with- 
«"t Preparation, on subjects which I shall give them." 



14 RECORD OF CLUBS. 

Four trembling women did she name; and when they 
heard their doom they quaked with fear and said, "These 
be the times which try men's souls." And behold, when 
the day had come they appeared, arrayed in festal gar- 
ments, even as the sacrificial lamb is decked with flowers. 
But when their friends and companions beheld their 
countenances, they marveled, for anguish of spirit was 
written thereon, and in their glossy ringlets were streaks 
of gray. 

Their locks were grej, but not with years; 

There came this streak 

In a single week 
That did bespeak their direful fears. 
Selah! 

And lo! now did they find that they had affrighted 
themselves at a shadow, for when they opened their 
mouths and spake, their words were as "apples of gold in 
pictures of silver." And when they had once more 
spread a feast, and made merry with their friends and 
neighbors, they separated for a time. 

And when they did cast their lots for officers in this 
third year, the first lot fell on Susan Hardie, the second 
lot on Anna McLester, and for Scribe, they had again 
Margaret Ward. 

CHAPTER IV. 

And now for the fourth time did the women of the 
Circle assemble themselves together, saying, "Behold, the 
winter is at hand, for already the north wind calleth to 
the east wind, and the flowers hang their heads at the 
sound thereof. Now will we begin again to satisfy our 
thirsty souls with large draughts of knowledge." And 



RECORD OF CLURS. I 5 

with one accord, they chose again the wise Ella to guide 
them. And they did study first the lines of one, Thomas 
Moore, whose honej'ed words ravish the ears of mankind. 
And they pondered on the words of Keats, and mourned 
for his untimely fate, murdered by the pen of harsh 
critics. And they sighed over the noble genius of 
Shelley, marred by dreary atheism. And they meditated 
also on the words of Leigh Hunt and Landor. And 
their hearts glowed with pride as they set themselves to 
observe those wise women, — Jane Austen, Jane Porter, 
Maria Edgeworth, and Hannah Moore. 

And now they come to those men to whom the truths 
of science are made clear; Darwin, Spencer, Huxley, and 
Maury ; and as they considered their words and saw how 
the secrets of the great deep were made known, how the 
mysteries of the heavens were brought to light, and the 
foundations of the earth laid bare ; they were filled with 
awe. And they said, "There have been mighty and wise 
men in the church militant, — Hall. Maurice, Kingsley, 
Chalmers, Whately, and Arnold. Let us now observe the 
manner of their lives, that we may learn likewise to 
"justify the ways of God to man." And those men who 
have told us the true story of principalities and powers, 
Macaulay and Carlyle, let us study their words also, that 
we may know what hath befallen the nations of the 
earth." Then did they apply themselves diligently to 
the study of those writers known among men as philoso- 
phers. They did reason with Hume, and sought with 
mighty efforts to find the true inwardness of Mills, of 
Lewes, of Reed and of Hamilton, until their brains did 
reel, and reason well nigh tottered on her throne. And 
they sought out that which was " pure and lovely and of 



l6 RECORD OF CLUBS. 

good report" in the Lake School poets, until Southey and 
Wordsworth and Coleridge had become their familiar 
friends. Now the rulers in this fourth year were ; Sarah 
Bush, President; .Anna McLester, Vice-President, and 
Margaret Ward, Scribe. 

CHAPTER V. 

Now it came to pass in the ninth month, the fif- 
teenth day of the month, that these women came 
together again, and again they chose for leader, the woman 
well favored and wise, who had guided their footsteps 
aforetimes. And she consented, saying, " I accept the 
trust, O well beloved, and together will we ponder over 
the words of the wise men, who have gone before us. 
We will write them upon the tablets of our hearts until 
the light of wisdom shall shine in our faces like unto a 
lamp that is concealed in a vase of alabaster." And they 
did study Charlotte Bronte, and her sisters, and George 
Eliot, and those other great writers, whose magic pens 
have found the secret springs of laughter and of tears, — 
Dickens, Thackeray, Reade and Bulwer. And they 
pondered, long on the words of Browning, and yielded 
themselves willing captives to the charm of Tennyson. 
And those mighty men of letters, who form Germany's 
crown of glory, upon their words also did they meditate, — 
Goethe, and Schiller, and other lesser lights. And they 
said, "We will see also why it is that France doth boast 
herself of Voltaire, of Lamartine, of Dumas,, of Victor 
Hugo, and Feuillet, and many others." And from the 
store house of Scandinavian thought they drew treasures 
also, as they read the words of Ibsen and of Hans Chris- 
tian Anderson. And after they had tarried there for a 



RECORD OF CLUBS. 1 7 

season, they went their way to the frozen steppes of 
Russia", and they considered the words of Turgenieff, 
and hearkened unto the voice of Tolstoi as he proclaimed 
the brotherhood of man. And divers other writers of 
books found they in^ that land. 

Then said these women, "We wot well that our own 
country is not one whit behind these distant lands in 
sages, in philosophers, and in poets. Let us seek them 
out." And they brought to light the early writers of 
America. They lingered over the words which Irving 
spake, and their hearts swelled .with pride as they said of 
Bryant and Whittier, of Longfellow, of Lowell, of 
Emerson and of Poe, " Lo! these are Americans." And 
with Whitman and Riley, with Bret Harte and Mark Twain 
did they study; also, with our own Father Ryan and Peck 
and Lanier. And they found among their own wise men 
many whom we call historians, — Prescott and Bancroft 
and Motley, and many writers of novels found they also, — 
Holmes and Holland and Hawthorne, and a multitude of 
others whom space doth fail me to tell of. And they 
rejoiced when they saw how many women in that favored 
land had written with the pen of a ready writer, words of 
wisdom and of beauty as Augusta Evans Wilson, 
Constance Fenimore Woolson, Harriet Beecher Stowe, 
and many others. 

Now the time having again drawn nigh when they 
should look no more upon each others faces for a season, 
they made again a feast after the manner of former 
years. And the officers whom the people chose to rule 
over them in this fifth year were: Anna McLester, Presi- 
dent; Annie Henley, Vice-President; and Margaret Ward, 
Scribe. 



l8 RECORD OF CLUBS. 

CHAPTER VI. 

And now, when the full corn was ripe in the ear, and 
the voice of the reaper was heard in the land, again did 
this band of women gather themselves together and 
begin anew to seek knowledge. And they said, "We will 
consider those men whom the world calls actors — those 
men who hold the mirror up to nature. We will study 
the drama, from its beginning in the misty past in ancient 
Greece and Rome to the present day. The great lights 
of the stage will we seek out, and observe the manner of 
their lives, nor will we neglect those lesser lights who still 
go in and out among us. And those women who have 
shed luster on our sex in this profession, we will give all 
honor to them also. And all that is remarkable or 
strange that doth befall the children of men from day to 
day, both in our own land and those far countries beyond 
the sea, will we consider also. One week in every month 
will we give to current events. And many were the 
things both pleasant and instructive they put into those 
weeks. Many new books did they review, many discus- 
sions had they among themselves concerning those 
questions which vex the souls of men in this day and 
generation. 

Now the officers in the sixth year were : Annie 
Henley, President; Ella Going, Vice-President and Bertha 
Jones, Secretary and Treasurer. 

CHAPTER Vn. 

And now when the summer had flown, and harvest 
time had come, for the seventh time did the women of 
the Cadmean Circle assemble themselves and take counsel 
together as to what path in wisdom's realms their eager 



RECORD OF CLUBS I9 

feet should tread. And they hearkened unto the voice 
of the learned woman who had been their guide for four 
years. And she opened her mouth and spake unto 
them, saying, " Is not the soul infinitely greater than the 
body and the material objects which surround us? Shall 
it not profit us therefore to study diligently the soul and 
the laws which govern its existence? And so they put 
themselves to a consideration of Psychology. And they 
discoursed eloquently concerning the memory, the will, 
the imagination, and all that pertains to the spirit of man^ 
With visions and dreams they entertained themselves 
also; and they sought to find out the meaning of that 
strange farce, called hypnotism, with its relation to crime 
and its power for healing. Nor did they neglect current 
events this year, but at one meeting in every four, did 
they speak among themselves, as aforetime, concerning 
these matters of interest in the great world. 

Now they had for rulers this seventh year: Harriet 
Ball, President, Lucy London, Vice-President; and 
Caroline Lovell, Scribe, 



THE HIGHLAND BOOK CLUB OF BIRMINGHAM 



A MEMBER OF THE CLUB. 



The Highland Book Club, of Birmingham, is yet in 
its infancy, having just passed its first anniversary. But 
there can be no doubt that it has already gone beyond 
the limits set for it in its first inception. Then, it was 
designed as a book club, pure and simple, for the pur- 
chase of new books of general interest, to be read in turn 



20 RECORD OF CLUBS 

by the members, and finally drawn by lot. In connection 
with which, as rather an incidental feature, it was pro- 
posed to hold semi-monthly meetings for social, and 
some slight literary diversion. As time went on, however, 
these meetings deepened in interest, the members became 
ambitious for the club to take on a wider culture, until 
now, the purchased books, while still read with interest 
and enjoyment, play a minor part in the club life. 

The initial meetings were occupied with alternate 
discussions of representative American women, and Ameri- 
can poets, usually concluding with a paper on current 
events. The series ended with the famous transcenden- 
talists of New England, and a consideration of the Brook 
Farm experiment. 

There must needs be an endless making of books, since 
the taste of the great omnivorous reading world is so 
varied and complex. One wants nothing but Carlyle, 
Emerson, Adam Smith, and Buckle, while, to another 
these vigorous minds are a weariness to the flesh, and 
nothing but novels will sufifice. One has a mental palate 
for only history and biography, while still another is 
greedy for all. So, even in such a limited organization as 
this, numbering only a score, there was found apprecia- 
tive recognition for nearly every book which had been 
selected. Strong's "New Era" and Drummond's "Ascent 
of Man," however, easily took the lead for popular favor; 
but Conan Doyle, Hall Caine, Boyesen, Blackmore, Sidney 
Lanier, Miss Wilkins, and others, were not without strong 
adherents. 

A committee is appointed for the selection of books, 
which is found to be by no means an easy task, inasmuch 
as many new books are called but few can be chosen. 



RECORD OF CLUBS. 21 

Another committee has the selection and arrangement of 
a programme for the meetings of the year, which is pub- 
lished in neat pamphlet form for convenient reference. 

This year's prospectus embraces such subjects as 
American inventions, educational systems, philanthropists 
and novelists. Central America and the great canal, 
Mexico, Spain, China, Scandinavia, and other topics of 
equal interest. 

Nothing having been more clearly demonstrated 
than that "a little nonsense now and then is relished by 
the best of women," an occasional meeting is given up to 
such form of light diversion as may best suit the hostess 
who is entertaining, and indeed, there is never wanting 
a spice of fun in any of the fortnightly gatherings. 

The esprit de corps of this club is thought, by the 
members at least, to be singularly fine. At the outset it 
was determined that a stanch club loyalty should be 
maintained, and everything like carping criticism or harsh 
unfriendly comment should be kept down, and the result 
is a frankness and spontaneity in the papers and discus- 
sions which promises delightful possibilities for the future. 



THE CLIONIAN LITERARY CIRCLE OF BIRM- 
INGHAM. 



MRS. GEO. M. CRUIKSHANK. 



The Clionian Literary Circle was organized in 
November, '94, under the name of the Happy Thoughts 
Club. Its object then was chiefly social pleasure. The 
meetings were held weekly at the homes of the members, 
the topics of the day were discussed, and a literary 



22 RECORD OF CLUBS. 

programme mapped out for the next meeting. Early in the 
spring it was decided to extend the reading, and make 
the club more literary than social. In pursuance of this 
idea, the name of the club was changed to the Clionian 
Literary Circle, with the unanimous approval of the 
members. 

The number of members at present is fifteen, but it 
has been decided to enlarge the membership to twenty. 
At the beginning of the first series officers were elected, 
and the members became intent upon real study. 

The work done by the club during the first two 
series was the study of "Sloane's Life of Napoleon," 
including the lives of the famous men and women of that 
time. The officers of the club are: Mrs. Robert Cunning- 
ham, President; Mrs. C. B. Spencer, Vice-President; Mrs. 
Geo. M. Cruikshank, Secretary. 

In April last, the Clionian Literary Circle joined the 
State Federation of Women's Clubs, which was organized 
in Birmingham at that time. 

Mrs. Robert Cunningham, in The New Cycle, says of 
the Clionians : "Although, when organizing the little 
circle, I had no idea of making literary work its special 
feature, yet the trend of each succeeding meeting showed 
plainly that such was the desire of its member!^. At a 
called meeting a committee of three was appointed to 
frame a constitution, project a line of study, and choose 
a name for the club. Within a fortnight we found our- 
selves a thoroughly organized and earnest body of 
workers, having chosen history as the field of study. 
The method of study adopted by the Clionians is a 
difficult one, but the fact became patent, ere many weeks 
had elapsed, that its exercise increased the interest and 



RECORD OD CLUBS. 23 

developed the intellectual acumen of the individual in 
proportion to her effort, and that it stimulated every 
member of the club to maintain a standard in which 
genuineness and thoroughness of study, and purity and 
elegance of diction, are demanded. 

The social feature of our meetings has, from the 
outset, been highly enjoyable, largely due to the fact that 
a free and friendly discussion of all topics pertinent to 
the work in hand has been encouraged and indulged in 
with a freedom altogether charming. 



ST. PAUL'S BIBLICAL AND LITERARY 
SOCIETY OF BIRMINGHAM. 



MISS MARY A. CAHALAN. 



St. Paul's Biblical and Literary Society was formed in 
September, 1894. A constitution was adopted ,and the 
following of^cers were elected : Miss Cahalan, President ; 
Miss Downey, Secretary and Treasurer. 

The membership of the Society was not limited, and 
there were about forty charter members. 

This society, for convenience, was subdivided into 
smaller circles, each having a president, and secretary, 
and a membership limited to ten. 

Two delegates from the small circles are appointed 
to attend, at regular periods, the meetings of the central 
society ; otherwise each circle is as independent as 
though a separate and distinct body. 



24 RECORD OF CLUBS. 

The union with the central society is not only for the 
strengthening influences of association, but also, for the 
purpose of adopting an uniform and systematic plan of 
study along Biblical lines. 

The general course of study includes Church History 
and the Sacred Scriptures, the groundwork being the 
Old Testament with all the literature that can be grouped 
about the subject. 

In addition to this course, the smaller circles may 
take up any subject the members desire. These circles 
are known in the central society by numbers. 



Circle number one, of St. Paul's Biblical and Literary 
Society, is a member of the State Federation of Literary 
Clubs. It was formed in September, 1894, with a mem- 
bership of ten. This limited number is composed entirely 
of ladies, but the list of honorary members includes several 
gentlemen. 

Besides Church History, for the first five centuries, the 
course of study for the past year may be briefly outlined 
as follows : Early English Literature, the Saxons in their 
Old Homestead, the Invasion of England, its Conversion, 
the Poems of Beowolf, and Caedmon ; also several of 
Shakespeare's plays, from a literary, historical and 
religious standpoint. 

The year's work has also extended to current events, 
embracing social, industrial, religious and political topics. 

In this course of study the members of the circle 
have prepared some fine papers, and manifested a decided 
taste for the best products of the world of letters. 

It is the purpose of the officers to change the name 
of the circle, increase its membership, and add to its 



RECORD OF CLUBS. 2$ 

foundation study a literary prospectus, whichT will enable 
the circle to take a worthy place among the sister clubs 
of the State. 



THE NINETEENTH CENTURY CLUB OF 
BIRMINGHAM. 



MRS. JOHN LONDON. 



The Nineteenth Century Club, composed of twenty 
young ladies of the South Highlands, was organized in 
August, 1895. 

The club was formed at the instance of Miss 
Hannah Elliott, and the first meeting was held at her 
residence. With the assistance of a leader, a constitution 
was framed, a course of study arranged, and a plan of 
work matured. 

As the club was made up, almost entirely, of young 
ladies who had recently finished a study of the standard 
authors, the members decided to take up the writers of 
the present day in connection with current events. The 
officers of the club are : a president, who assigns the 
work : a secretary and treasurer ; and a leader. 

The meetings are held every Wednesday afternoon 
at the homes of the members. The regular programme 
consists of quotations from the author for the occasion, 
original papers and selected readings, and a general dis- 
cussion of the subject under consideration. 

Each member is required to study the topic for the 
meeting. The membership of the Nineteenth Century 



26 RECORD OF CLUBS. 

Club comprises the following young ladies; Misses Ada 
Johnston, Eloise Johnston, Emma Leedy, Rosa Sloss, 
Malisa Moore, Margaret Smith, Kate Meade, Estelle John, 
Hannah Elliott, Rinnie Leigh Head, Bertha Koenig, 
Daisy Lewis, Fannie Meade, Augusta Sharpe, Nellie 
Blackwood, and Julia Ward. 



THE PIERIAN LITERARY SOCIETY OF 
BIRMINGHAM. 



MISS MAY BELLE SLOSS. 



HISTORY OF THE PIERIAN LITERARY SOCIETY OF THE 
POLLOCK-STEPHENS INSTITUTE. 

In 1890, the Hippocrenean Literary Society of the 
Pollock-Stephens Institute, of Birmingham, was founded. 
The following year the society was divided, the one part, 
bearing the name of " Pierian," the other, the name of 
the original " Hippocrenean." Since that time the two 
societies have been entirely separate and distinct, having 
each their ofificers and constitution. They, however, 
have pursued the same courses of study, and given their 
entertainments jointly. 

The object of the Pierian Society has been, and is, to 
give the members advantages supplementary to their 
studies in literature, elocution, and music. Study is made 
of literature in departments, and of authors in their works, 
by readings, synopses, analyses, discussions, and reports. 



RECORD OF CLUBS. 27 

Elocution forms a part of the programme of every 
meeting of the society. By means of these exercises the 
elocution pupils become familiar with the best selections 
in poetry and prose, and are able to render their recita- 
tions in an intelligent manner. 

Music, both vocal and instrumental, is rendered by 
the music pupils of the Institute at these monthly society 
meetings, thus giving encouragement to practice, and 
affording frequent opportunities for performing under the 
direction of the music teacher. 

Each meeting is devoted to an author, or noted 
event. There have been meetings with the following 
topics for study and discussion : Longfellow, Southern 
Literature, Thomas Nelson Page, Margaret J. Preston, 
Browning, John Ruskin, Alfred Tennyson, Shakes- 
peare's Women, George Peabody, and Oliver Wendell 
Holmes. 

On various occasions the societies have had the 
pleasure of listening to addresses by able and learned 
lecturers. One of the most interesting of these lectures 
was " Five Moonlight Scenes in Europe," by Dr. Jen- 
nings, of Georgia. The lectures by Dr. Pickard, Dr. 
Walker, and Prof. DuBose were also greatly enjoyed. Dr. 
Meek, of the University of Alabama, delivered an able 
address before the societies on the "Art of Conversation." 

By creating emulation between the societies the 
members have added greatly to their interest. From time 
to time subjects have been assigned for contests. One 
of the most interesting of these occasions was the 
evening devoted to Shakespearean Women. 

It is the custom of the society to have a Current 
Events meeting now and then. During the past season. 



28 RECORD OF CLUBS. 

besides other topics of the day, the society has discussed 
" Trilby," " Hypnotism," "Laws passed by the Alabama 
Legislature," and the " Destruction of the Elbe." 

At different times the members have rendered the 
following extracts at the meetings of the society : 
" Pareppa Rosa," " Jeptha's Daughter," scenes from 
" Merchant of Venice," " King Lear," " Henry IV " and 
" V," — a specialty being made of Shakespeare. 

Officers are elected annually. The officers at 
present are : President, Miss May Belle Sloss ; Vice Pres- 
ident, Miss Kate Eubank ; Recording Secretary, Miss 
Virginia Walker; Corresponding Secretary, Miss Carolyn 
Morris; Reporter, Miss Florrie Graves; Treasurer, 
Miss Gracie Smith. 



THE KETTLEDRUM OF TUSCALOOSA. 



MRS. J. T. SEARCY 



The Kettledrum, an organization composed of thirty 
married ladies of Tuscaloosa, was founded by Mrs. E. A. 
C. Snow and Mrs. R. H. Clements in March, 1889. 

A preliminary meeting was called for the purpose of 
discussing the object of the society. The ladies who 
responded to the invitation decided to adopt no consti- 
tution, but to elect a president annually, and to hold 
meetings semi-monthly, the second and fourth Thursday 
afternoons of each month, at the homes of the members 
in alphabetical order. 



RECORD OF CLUBS. 29 

It was determined that the purpose of the Kettle- 
drum should be the cultivation of sociability among its 
members, but, in order to make the club somewhat 
instructive, a motion was made and carried, to select a 
poet or author from whom quotations should be given as 
each name on the roll was called. 

The first meeting was held at the residence of Mrs. 
Snow, who was chosen President. Sir Walter Scott was 
the first subject of study, and the authors subsequently 
considered were : Longfellow, Burns, Byron, Goldsmith, 
Thomas Moore, Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jean Ingelow, 
Dickens, Shakespeare, Owen Meredith, Bryant, Edwin 
Arnold, A. P. Willis, James Russell Lowell, Campbell, 
Wordsworth, Shelley and Keats, Ruskin, Adelaide 
Proctor, George Eliot, Washington Irving, Hawthorne, 
Tennyson, and Thackeray. The poets of our own South- 
land — Father R\an, the Poet Priest of the South — A. B. 
Meek, and Samuel Minturn Peck, were not omitted. 

At this period in the history of the Kettledrum, the 
selections were extended from the sublime to the opposite 
extreme, including an evening with "Mother Goose." 
For the s^ke of variety, subjects of general interest 
took the place of distinctively literary topics. "The 
Greatest Thing in the World" was discussed by the thirty 
loving dames of tlie Kettledrum, and one of their number, 
Mrs. B. L. Strudvvick, read an entertaining essay on that 
inspiring theme. 

Thev talk about a woman's sphere, 
As thiiugh it had a limit — 
There's not a place in earth or heaven, 
Without a woman in it. 

Reversing t' e commonly accepted order of classifi- 
cation, woman, and then man, next engaged the atten- 



30 RECORD OF CLUBS. 

tion of the club. On the latter subject Mrs. Belle R. 
Harrison read a spicy article. 

Debates, occasioned perhaps by the discussion of 
these subjects, next amused and enlivened the club. 
Some of the questions debated were : "Should Women 
Vote?" "Was Elizabeth Justifiable in Signing the Death 
Warrant of Mary Queen of Scots?" "Is Deception 
Necessary in Society?" "Would the Emigration of the 
Negro be Beneficial to the South?" "Are There as Good 
Fish in the Sea as Have Been Caught Out?" and "Is 
Marriage a Failure?" Music, birds, and flowers were the 
topics of other meetings. The Japanese and Chinese 
Kettledrums were novel events. The valentine, Napo- 
leonic, and Trilby meetings were delightful occasions, 
while the Presidential and Confederate evenings were 
replete with the history of our own country. 

The glimpses of important cities, London, Paris, etc., 
suggested a not less interesting study, the "Druid City" 
of Tuscaloosa. The papers read in connection with this 
subject, by Mrs. W. C. Richardson and Mrs. Ellen Peter 
Bryce, were full of valuable information. 

Situated, as it is, in an University town, the environ- 
ment of the Kettledrum is peculiarly favorable to the 
highest intellectual culture. The papers read have repre- 
sented both research and scholarship ; musical and his- 
trionic talent have also been brought out by the meetings. 

Mrs. S. J. Leach is the "sor>g bird" of the organi- 
zation. Mrs. George Searcy, Mrs. Fant, and Mrs. W. C. 
Fitts have often delighted the club with selections of 
instrumental music, and Mrs. W. C. Jemison and Mrs. R. 
H. Nicholson with "rich and rare" recitations. 



RECORD OF CLUBS. 3I 

The Kettledrum continued about one year with no 
other officer than a president. Then it was decided to 
abolish even that office, and permit the hostess to invite 
some friend to conduct the meeting as president /r^ /^?«, 

In January, 1893, it became necessary to have a con- 
stitution, president, vice-president, and secretary. A 
committee of ladies drew up a constitution, which was 
adopted. Mrs. W. G, Cochrane was elected President, 
Mrs. A. B. McEachin, Vice-President; and Mrs. J. T. 
Searcy, Secretary. 

The ladies who have succeeded Mrs. Cochrane are ; 
Mrs. A. B. McEachin, Mrs. A. C. Hargrove, Mrs. Belle 
R. Harrison, and Mrs. J. T. Searcy. The present presid- 
ing officer is Mrs. B. F. Meek. 

The membership of the Kettledrum includes several 
writers of ability. Mrs. Belle R. Harrison's verses have 
been much sought after by Boston publishers, and her 
dialect pieces have been pronounced equally fine. Mrs. 
W, C. Jemison has published a number of exquisite 
poems also. 

The meetings of the Kettledrum have been kept up 
regularly for nearly six years, with adjournments only 
during the lenten season and the heated term of each year. 

The meetings of the club have been the means of 
developing the latent executive talent of its members. 
Many ladies, too timid at one time to speak in any gath- 
ering, can now conduct the exercises according to parlia- 
mentary rules, with the greatest ease and dignity. The 
club has been the medium, too, by which the most last- 
ing friendships have been formed. The law of charity has 
been observed among its members, and no spirit of rivalry 
or petty jealousy has ever marred its social life. Too 



32 RECORD OF CLUBS. 

much cannot be said in praise of this delightful organi- 
zation, which is a household word in the quiet refined 
little city. 

Once during the season, the gentlemen are invited to 
enjoy with the ladies the annual Kettledrum. 

-;f Or -X- * * 

There is a club in Tuscaloosa, similar to the Kettle- 
drum, called the Hill Literary Circle. It is named in 
honor of Professor Alonzo Hill, who for so many years 
taught the young ladies who compose the circle. He, 

"lured to brighter worlds and led the way." 

■X- * * * * 

There are two literary societies in each of the two 
female colleges of Tuscaloosa, and even the little girls of 
eight and ten years of age have formed a Rosebud 
Society. This, also, has for its model the Kettledrum. 



THE HILL LITERARY CIRCLE OF TUSCA- 
LOOSA. 



MISS M. D. WYMAN, 



The Alonzo Hill Literary Circle, of Tuscaloosa, was, 
organized in December, 1894. 

It was named for the honored President of the Tus- 
caloosa Female College, an accomplished scholar, who 
devoted his life to the education of girls. 

Its membership consists of thirty young ladies, who 
were formerly, without exception, pupils of Professor 
Hill. 



RECORD OF CLUBS. 33 

The object of the society is to stimulate intellectual 
growth, and to" promote social enjoyment. Its officers, 
elected every three months, are: a president, a vice-presi. 
dent, and a secretary. 

The first officers of the Circle were: Miss Martha Hill, 
President ; Miss Mary Lee Hays, Vice- President ; Miss 
Nela McCalla, Secretary. 

The meetings are held semi-monthly at the homes of 
the members. The programme for each afternoon is 
arranged by the hostess, and the literary exercises are 
diversified by vocal and instrumental music. 

During the season of 1894-95, the general course 
of study was as follows : December, Oliver Wendell 
Holmes ; January, the Old Year ; February, Dickens, St. 
Valentine ; March, Robert Browning ; April, Professional 
Humorists, Henry W. Longfellow; May, Father Ryan, 
Tom Moore; June, Burns, Tennyson ; July, the Declara- 
tion of Independence, Sir Walter Scott. 

The Club convenes on the first Thursday in October.. 



THE SATURDAY SHAKESPEARE CLUB OF 
GREENSBORO. 



MRS. W. W. OVERSTREET. 



The Saturday Shakespeare Club, as the name 
implies, was founded for the express purpose of reading 
and studying the writings of the "Bard of Avon." 

Encouraged by our great love for Shakespeare, we 
endeavor to interpret the thoughts of him who is the 



34 RECORD OF CLUBS. 

inexhaustible analyst of the human heart, and the most 
complete illustrator of men. 
To us, 

"The plays the thing, 

The}' are the books, the arts, the academies, 

From whence doth spring the true Promethean fire." 

I think, though, that sometimes we are sorry that 
Shakespeare is so deficient in a definite personality, 
and a vain regret seizes us that in his day there 
were no magazines to persuade him to write a series 
of articles on "My Literary Passions," or "The Man 
Who Most Influenced Me." Would Bacon have b&en 
accorded that honor, think you? 

There are none of us "new women" in the accepted 
meaning of that term. We have learned from our 
Master that, 

"A woman impudent and mannish grown 
Is not more loathed than an effeminate man 
In time of action." 

Hereditary influences are the best that could have 
been transmitted to us, for our originators were two of 
the most intellectual women in the land^Mrs. T. J. 
Lawson and Miss Martha Young. They have been an 
inspiration to the club during its six years of existence. 

Our constitution was framed by them, and has often 
been chosen as a model by other clubs. Our member- 
ship is limited to twenty-two, and, 

"The chief perfections of our lovely dames. 
Would make a volume of enticing lines." 



RECORD OF CLUBS. 

THE POETS' CIRCLE OF GREENSBORO. 



MISS HELEN PASTEUR. 



The Poets' Circle was organized February 17th. 1894, 
by Miss Agnes Young and Mrs. D. P. Christenberry. 

At the first meeting of the circle the following 
ofificers were elected : Mrs. D. P. Christenberry, Presi- 
dent; Miss Agnes Young. Vice-President; Miss Annie 
Locke, Second Vice-President; Miss Fannie E. Jones, 
Recording Secretary; Miss Helen Pasteur, Correspond- 
ing Secretary; Miss Annie Waller, Treasurer. 

The object of the circle is to study the different 
poets. An executive committee directs the selections 
and arranges the course of study. Meetings are held 
weekly, on Saturday afternoons, at the residences of the 
members. The programme for each meeting is as follows: 
Roll call, quotations from the poet for the occasion, 
minutes of last meeting, music or recitations, sketches of 
the poet's life and writings, essays or criticisms, reading of 
lesson, announcements. 

The circle adjourns for the summer vacation after 
the first Saturday in June, and resumes work on the first 
Saturday in October. 

The membership of the circle is limited to twenty- 
three. Four, successive, unexplained absences are con- 
sidered a forfeiture of membership. Officers are elected 
annually, at the first regular meeting in October. The 
election of officers and members is by ballot. The critic 
of the circle is required to note the incorrect rendering of 
any passage in the lesson, and to point out all the errors 
in pronunciation. 



36 RECORD OF CLUBS. 

THE ROUND TABLE OF DEMOPOLIS. 



The Round Table, of Demopolis, was organized 
November 25th, 1892. The officers elected were: Presi- 
dent, Miss L..C. Caldwell; Vice-President, Mrs. Louis 
Braswell; Secretary and Treasurer, Miss Annie Lyon. 

The constitution and by-laws adopted were of the 
simplest character, providing for the annual election of 
officers, the selection of a committee on prospectus, 
the regular meetings, every alternate Tuesday,' and for 
occasional social reunions. The first season we studied 
Shakespeare, using Rolfe's and Kellogg's editions, and all 
the outside help at our command. 

The second year we took an imaginary tour through 
Europe, including in the route the leading cities with 
their chief points of interest. The past year we devoted 
our time to the different dynasties of Europe, beginning 
with the Romanoff, and ending with the English house of 
Hanover. 

We have not fully arranged our course of study for 
1895-96, but contemplate taking up the Renaissance and 
Modern Art. Besides the substantial work accomplished 
at each meeting, we have a delightful time socially, sim- 
ple refreshments being served at the conclusion of the 
literary programme for the afternoon. We have also an 
elaborate baiiquet or reception just before adjourning 
for the summer vacation. 

The club has about twenty members, and still retains 
the officers elected upon its organization. We have very 
little "red tape" in our club, but the members unanimously 
agree that The Round Table is a pleasant and a profitable 
institution. 

L. C. CALDWELL. 



RECORD OF CLUBS 37 

THE NEW CENTURY CLUB OF SHEFFIELD. 



MRS. T. L. CARTER. 



The New Century Club, organized in 1892, is com- 
posed entirely of married ladies. The membership of 
the club is limited to eighteen. 

The first two years it was engaged in magazine study; 
during the Columbian year Spain occupied the atten 
tion of the club; and next the history of the United 
States was taken up. 

The season of 1895-96 will be devoted to the conside- 
ration of American literature. The regular meetings are 
held on Thursday afternoon of each alternate week, 
except during the months of June, July, August, and 
September. The programme on these occasions consists of 
an original essay, conversation on the given subject, 
reading of selections, and a general discussion of current 
events. 

In connection with the literary work, a musical 
programme is prepared for each meeting by Mrs. J. C. 
Harris and Mrs. E. L. Reese — the directors of that 
department. 

During the coming season a series of lectures will be 
given under the auspices of the New Century Club. The 
prospectus for each year's work is printed in a booklet 
which includes a copy of the constitution and by-laws. 

The members of the club regard its remarkable 
success as very largely due to their strict adherence to 
the rules marked out for the government of the organi- 
zation. 



38 RECORD OF CLUBS. 

The New Century Club is an enthusiastic band of 
literary workers. It has been highly complimented by 
distinguished visitors to the progressive little city, and 
has, during the brief period of its existence, become an 
important factor in the intellectual development of 
Sheffield. 

The officers for 1895-96 are: President, Mrs. R, 
H. Wilhoyte; Vice-President and Corresponding Secre- 
tary, Mrs. T. L. Carter; Secretary and Treasurer, Mrs. 
W. S. White. 



THE LITERARY CLUBS OF HUNTSVILLE. 



The Chatauqua Literary Circle, of Huntsville, was 
organized by Mrs. Todd in 1890. The circle is composed 
of thirty married ladies. Their course of study has 
embraced Grecian, Roman, English and French litera- 
ture, and also the plays of Shakespeare. 

A tourist's course is mapped out for 1895-96. Mrs. 
Boiling is the present presiding officer of the circle. 



The Pierian Circle is made up of twelve young ladies. 
Under the direction of a leader they have studied the 
plays of Sophocles, yEschylus, and Euripides. Their 
plan of study has included questions on the mythological 
and historical data of each play — prepared for the circle 
by the leader. They have accomplished an excellent 
work. 



RECORD OF CLUBS. 39 

THE PROGRESSIVE CULTURE CLUB OF 
DECATUR. 



The Woman's Progressive Culture Club, of the 
Decaturs, was called together in January, 1892, by Mrs. 
Ellen S. Hildreth, at whose residence the meetings are 
held. A name and simple form of constitution were 
adopted, and committees on art, literature, music, ethics, 
and the World's Fair, were formed. The last was eventu- 
ally dropped, and tourist papers substituted, thus giving 
opportunity to learn new things through absent members. 
Current events was also added as a new topic for each 
day. Each committee is given a day in succession, each 
programme relating to the subject of the day being 
relieved by music. Beginning with the first Tuesday in 
November, meetings are held every alternate Tuesday 
until the last of May. 

For the past two years programmes of the work for the 
year have been printed the preceding summer, thus 
giving the members time to prepare original work and 
read the subjects to be discussed. Programmes for the 
winter of 1895-6 are now ready for the press. In 1894 
the club joined the General Federation of Women's 
Clubs, and in November of the same year Mrs. Hildreth 
was sent as a delegate to the A. A. W. at Memphis. This 
organization was entertained by the Nineteenth Century 
Club — the oldest woman's club, next to Sorosis. Through 
the persevering efforts of the founder and Honorary Presi- 
dent, Hrs. Hildreth, a book containing original work 
from each department, beautifully illustrated by the 
artists of the club, was sent to the World's Fair, where it 



40 RECORD OF CLUBS. 

was exhibited with others in the space set aside for the 
General Federation of Women's Clubs. 

A meeting of the women's clubs of this state was held 
in Birmingham last April for the purpose of forming a 
State Federation. Mrs. Wyker and Mrs. Hildreth were 
sent as delegates, and Mrs. Wyker had the honor of be- 
ing elected State Secretary. The Progressive Culture 
Club is purely a literary and social organization, and its 
members are interested in all that tends to elevate the 
intellectual standard of the twin cities. At present they are 
enthusiastic over a plan for a public library. The officers 
for the coming year are : President, Miss Mary L. 
Frey; First Vice-President, Mrs. Lucile B. Godbey; Sec- 
ond Vice-President, Mrs. Theodosia C. Allison; Secre- 
tary, Miss Ella Robb, Treasurer, Mrs. Cora P. Scott. 

Club Member. 



THE STUDIOSIS OF ANNISTON. 



Realizing the strength and force of all organized 
bodies, for work of any kind, and the advantages to be 
gained by a course of systematic study, several earnest 
women met at the home of Mrs. M. H. Frye, on Tyler 
Hill, in the early fall of 1894, to discuss the importance 
of organizing a society for the study of literature. 

As a result of this effort, a literary society was organ- 
ized on the 27th of September, with nine members 
enrolled. The chairman appointed a committee to draft 
a constitution to be submitted at the next meeting. 
On the following Saturday a constitution was adopted, 
and the following ofificers were elected: Mrs. John B. 
Knox, President; Mrs. E. R. Smith, Vice-President; Mrs. 
R. D. Crusoe, Secretary and Treasurer. 



RECORD OF CLUBS. 4I 

The president appointed a committee to prepare a 
course of study for the year, and this committee decided 
upon the study of the Hves and works of the EngHsh 
poets together with the history of the times in which 
they lived. 

As a guide in this work we obtained Beer's CHAUCER 
TO TENNYSON, and subscribed for the Chautauquan 
Magazine. At first our meetings were held fortnightly, 
but in order to complete the course, we have latterly held 
them on Thursday afternoon of each week. 

After several discussions in regard to a name for our 
club, we decided to adopt a name suggested by one of 
our members, THE STUDIOSIS. 

Our membership was limited to twenty, and we now 
have that number of active members. The membership 
of the club was divided into three committees, each com- 
mittee to furnish the literary programme for every third 
meeting, under the direction of the leader appointed by 
the president for the meeting. We have no salaried 
leader, but each member has the privilege and responsi. 
bility of leading during the year, when appointed by the 
president. 

The programme of the last meeting before the usual 
adjournment, led by Mrs. O. M. Reynolds, will give some 
idea of the character of the work done by our club : 



42 RECORD OF CLUBS. 

Piano Solo— 'The Brook" Mrs. W. H. Weatherly 

Life of Lord Tennj'son — "The Laureled King of 

English singers Mrs. J. S. Burnett 

Paper — Comparison of the literature of the Eliza- 
bethan and Victorian age Mrs. R. D. Crusoe 

Reading from In Memoriam (with history of the 

poem) Mrs. J. B. Knox 

Paper — Comparison of Tennyson and Browning. .Mrs. W. F.Johnston 

Paper— "Idyls of the King" Mrs. E. R. Smith 

Reading — "Lady Godiva" (with history of the poem. .) 

Mrs. W. W. Stringfellow 

Sketch of Gladstone Mrs. W. T. Willson 

Sketch of Queen Victoria Mrs. R. L. McCalley 

Reading— To the Queen Mrs. T. G. Bush 

Paper — "The Princess" Mrs. T. L. Robinson 

Vocal Solo — "Crossing the Bar" Miss Nellie Knight 

Review questions, incidents in the life of the author — Quotations. 

The Young Ladies Club was present by invitation. 
An innovation much appreciated at this meeting was the 
music. 

Among the most pleasant and instructive features in 
our programmes are the incidents from the lives of the 
authors, and the questions on these subjects which are 
prepared with much care and study. 

Our work for the next year begins the first Thursday 
in October. A committee was appointed to decide upon 
the course of study and report at a call meeting in 
September. 

The members of The Studiosis are: Mrs. O. M. 
Reynolds, Mrs. E. L. Turner, Mrs. A. H. Shepperd, Mrs. 
W. W. Stringfellow, Mrs. E. R. Smith, Mrs. Frank 
Nelson, Mrs. J. S. Burnett, Mrs. A. H. Smith, Mrs. W. 



RECORD OFCLUBS. 43 

T. Willson, Mrs. S. P. Kennedy, Mrs. W. L. Doane, Mrs. 
T. G. Bush, Mrs. Algernon Smith. Mrs. W. H. Weatherly, 
Mrs. R. L. McCalley, Mrs. W. F. Johnston, Mrs. T. 
L. Robinson, Mrs. W. A. Davis. 

Mrs. John B. Knox, 
Mrs. R. D. Crusoe, President. 

Secretary. 



THE YOUNG LADIES' LITERARY SOCIETY 
OF ANNISTON. 



The morning of January 26th, 1895, witnessed the con. 
summation of laudable ambition and honest effort, in the 
organization of a society, by the young ladies of Anniston^ 
for the study of literature. This materialized not from 
spasmodic desire of learning, not from self-aggrandize- 
ment, nor from motives of any sordid nature; but from 
the healthy and sincere purpose of enjoying that sweet 
communion of thought that comes through united and 
systematic study. 

On the morning referred to, ten young ladies met at 
the home of Miss Bush and elected the following ofificers: 
Miss Knight, President: Miss Frye, Vice-President; Miss 
Alta McMillan, Secretary and Treasurer. No special plan 
of study for the year was mapped out, but the authors to 
be studied were left to the judgment of a committee. 
This committee selected a course of study which has 
proven not only interesting, but the means of accom- 
plishing excellent results. Four meetings were devoted 
to American poetry and poets; three to American prose 
writers; six to English poets; five to English novelists; 



44 RECORD OF CLUBS. 

and the remaining to women in literature. In order that 
the literary feature should be preserved on all occasions, 
it was deemed wise to restrict the membership to twenty- 
five, it being thought that a larger number than this 
might destroy the harmony and unity from which we ex- 
pected much strength. Our meetings have been held 
weekly, Saturday mornings. The leader for each meeting 
is appointed three weeks previous, and it is incumbent 
upon her to prepare the programme, and be responsible 
for the literary tenor of her meeting. In addition to the 
papers read at each meeting, we have made the programme 
spicy with incidents, quotations, and questions relative 
to the subject of the meeting. 

February 9th, the first literary programme was 
carried through with marked success and rousing interest. 
Two hours were spent in discussing the life and works of 
that poet of the people, Henry W. Longfellow, the sun- 
shine of whose life seemed to fill our own. As we reviewed 
his works, we felt grateful to the memory of our coun- 
tryman, who could leave us such pure thoughts, such a 
wealth of familiar truths, clothed in such simple language 
as to be appreciated by every one. It was a happy 
inspiration to begin our course with the study of Long- 
fellow, but unfortunate to have closed our year's study 
with Emerson. He always lends such an impetus to learn- 
ing and literature. His sweet philosophy so constantly 
pointed us to glorious fields, white with the harvest of 
friendly deeds and noble efforts, that we felt well nigh 
ashamed to take a vacation from the systematic study of 
literature. 

We consider it a pleasing coincidence to have begun 

and ended our meetings with so charming a hostess as 
Miss Bush. 



RECORD OF CLUBS. 45 

We have no memories but pleasant ones of this lit- 
erary work, and every moment expended has seemed to 
ring in the thought that the days of our youth are the 
days of our glory. With the rendition of each programme 
an increasing interest has been manifested. The study 
of the several authors has developed within us an intense 
feeling of gratitude for their leaving to us an inheritance 
incorruptible in the treasures of wisdom and gems of 
thought. Indeed, our voyage of four months on the 
literary sea has proven pleasant and profitable. Our 
pilot, Miss Knight has steered us toward the most pleasant 
isles, away from all breakers of scepticism and reform 
movements, and although our vessel is not one of deepest 
intellectual draught, yet we have reached the harbor 
which we sought. CONRADINE SkaGGS. 



THE PEEP O'DAY CLUB OF ANNISTON. 



MRS. JOHN" B. KNOX. 



One of the most unique and original literary clubs 
in the state is the Peep O'Day club, of Anniston. It is 
composed of fourteen little girls from eight to twelve 
years of age. and was organized by Miss Margaret 
Reynolds, at her father's home, on the i2thof July, 1895. 

The ofificers elected were : Miss Margaret Reynolds. 
President; Miss Mamie Smith, Vice-President; Miss Carrie 
McClure Knox, Secretary and Treasurer. 

Their course of study began with the history of 
"Mother Goose's" poetry. The club meets once a week. 



46 RECORD OF CLUBS. 

on Friday afternoon. A paper is prepared for each meet- 
ing on current events, and every member is required to 
bring a quotation from the author for the occasion. 

This club promises to be a leading factor in the lite- 
rary history of Anniston. 



THE ARGUS CLUB OF TALLADEGA. 



The Argus Club was organized in February, 1895, 
with seven charter members. The constitution and by- 
laws were formed and adopted at the first meeting. 

The membership is limited to fifteen, and is com- 
posed entirely of young ladies. The ofificers are as 
follows : President, Miss Clara E, Cruikshank; Vice- 
President, Miss Ida M. Henderson; Secretary and Treas- 
urer, Miss Milton Burr. 

The object of the club is intellectual stimulus and 
mutual improvement. Its immediate purpose is a course 
of reading to familiarize the members with the promi- 
nent American authors, their biographies, works, and best 
thoughts. Especial attention is given to fiction writers, 
essayists, and poets. 

A prospectus committee arranges the work for the 
year, while the programme committee plans the order of 
exercises for each meeting. The names of proposed 
members are submitted to a committee, appointed by 
the president, who reports upon their eligibility. This 
committee is known only to the president. 

Fortnightly meetings are held, on alternate Saturday 
afternoons, except during the heated term. The papers 
prepared and read before the club have been excep- 



RFXORI) OF CLUBS. 47 

tionally fine, some evincing great talent. These papers 
are regularly filed by the secretary. The club keeps in 
touch with the times by reading and discussing current 
events; and occasionally a short story or book-criticism 
is introduced, for the purpose of encouraging independent 
research on the part of the various members. 

The benefit derived from the observations of an 
excellent critic has been an important factor in the 
literary advancement of the club. The club has had only 
one social meeting since its organization. It was honored 
on that occasion by the presence of the president of the 
State Federation of Literary Clubs. The object of that 
association was plainly outlined by its president, and 
the Argus Club decided to unite with the State Fede- 
ration. 

* * * * * * 

The Highland City Book Club was organized Octo- 
ber 1st, 1895. Its membership is limited to twenty, and 
its meetings are held the second and fourth Thursdays 
of each month. The club is composed entirely of 
married ladies. 

Clara Elizabeth Cruikshank. 



THE HIGHLAND CITY BOOK CLUB OF 
TALLADEGA. 



MRS. J. W. VANDIVER. 



The Highland City Book Club was organized on 
Tuesday afternoon, October Lst, 1895, at the residence of 
Mrs. M. W. Cruikshank. 



48 RECORD OF CLUBS. 

The ladies were called together at the instance of 
Mrs. J. E. Stone. The president of the State Federation 
of Literary Clubs presided over the meeting. A consti- 
tution and by-laws were formed and adopted, and the 
following officers were elected for the ensuing year : 
President, Mrs. T. S. Plowman: Vice-President, Mrs. J. 
E. Stone; Secretary and Treasurer, Mrs. J. W. Vandiver. 

A committee was appointed to arrange a programme 
for the next meeting to be held at the residence of the 
president. The hostess then served delightful refresh- 
ments, adding a social feature to the occasion, which will 
be kept up in the future meetings of the club. 

The membership of the club consists entirely of 
married ladies. The meetings of the club will take place 
semi-monthly on alternate Thursday afternoons, at the 
homes of the members in alphabetical order. 

The members of this organization enter upon their 
first season with great enthusiasm, and expect to derive 
much profit and pleasure from their course of study. 



THE NO NAME CLUB OF MONTGOMERY. 



MRS. STERLING A. WOOD. 



At the request of Mrs John D. Roquemore, a number 
of ladies met at her hospitable home, in January, 1894, 
for the purpose of organizing a reading circle. For three 
months the work accomplished was exceedingly pleasant, 
though of a desultory character. As the interest in the 



RECORD OF CLUBS. 49 

circle grew, the need for a more complete organization and 
a more systematic course of study was felt, and in May, 
the following officers were elected : Mrs. Sterling A. 
Wood, President ; Mrs. Geo. B. Eager, Vice-President ; 
Mrs. John D. Roquemore, Secretary. These three officers 
prepared the constitution and by-laws, and with the assist- 
ance of two members of the club, arranged a prospectus 
of work for the following year. In order to procure the 
individual ideas of the members in regard to the course 
to be studied, each member was requested to hand to 
this committee a subject in which she was especially 
interested. These subjects were arranged, sub-divided 
and assigned to the members, by the Prospectus Com- 
mittee ; the lady submitting the subject was given the 
leading paper to prepare. 

The meetings occur semi monthly, at the homes of 
the respective members. After two hours devoted to 
literary work, simple refreshments are served. The 
membership is limited to twenty-five. 

The object of the club is to promote social and 
literary advancement. 

The officers elected for 1895-96 are : Mrs. C A. 
Lanier, President ; Mrs. J. B. Gaston, Vice-President ; 
Mrs. Alex. B. Garland, Secretary and Treasurer. 



THE SHAKESPEARE CLUB OF MONTGOMERY. 



A MEMBER OF THE CLUB. 



The Shakespeare Club, of Montgomery, is an informal 
organization. The meetings of the club begin with 
quotations from the play imder consideration. The sec- 
retary copies these bits of the Poet's wit and wisdom in 
her report of the minutes. Collateral studies in history 



50 RECORD OF CLUBS. 

are pursued in connection with the historical plays. 
Original criticisms and papers on the times, events, or 
characters of the play are also read at each meeting. 
There is nothing unique in its method of study^ but the 
club is an earnest, hard-working one. The members of 
the club are fined for absence or tardiness. 

The ofificers of the Shakespeare Club included a presi- 
dent, a secretary, a dictator, and a critic. The dictator 
assigns the work. Its membership is limited to twenty- 
five. 



THE KETTLEDRUxM OF PRATTVILLE. 



A MEMBER OF THE CLUB. 



The Prattville Kettledrum was organized January 
1st, 1894, with twenty active members, and two honorary 
members. The of^cers elected were : Mrs. Daniel 
Pratt, President; Mrs. P. B. Frazier, Vice-President; Mrs. 
W. F. Sadler, Secretary. 

The meetings of the Kettledrum combine social and 
literary features. An author is selected for each occasion, 
and the programme consists of quotations from the author 
under discussion, selected readings from his writings, and a 
sketch of his life. Music, recitations and social converse 
are interspersed and addjvariety to the literary exercises. 
The club holds eighteen receptions during the season. 

The ofBcers for the present year are : Mrs. W. F. 
Wilkinson, President; Mrs. Norwood Smith, Vice-Presi- 
dent; Mrs. W. M. Fisher, Secretary. 



RECORD OF CLUBS, 5 I 

THE INTER SE CLUK OF GREENVILLE. 



The Inter Se Club was organized in 1890. It was 
formed for the benefit of young girls, and consequently 
the course of study included the best works of English 
and American writers. 

Our plan is to require each member to read the books 
selected for discussion at the regular meetings. The 
characters of the book, if a novel or a play, are assigned 
to different members, who are expected to give character 
analyses together with select readings. 

The representative work of each author is chosen. 
As the design of our club is the improvement of the 
younger people, we have naturally traveled over well- 
beaten paths. In English literature the following writers 
have been studied: Dickens, Thackeray, Shakespeare, 
Bulwer, George Eliot, DeQuincey, Mathew Arnold, 
Carlyle, and Ruskin. Several novels have been read with 
a view to their historical setting. In these instances, the 
president has mapped out the collateral studies in history 
and assigned the subjects to the different members. 

"Romo)a," "The Egyptian Princess," and "Ouentin 
Durward" were read in this interesting manner. We 
also spent an evening in discussing "H. H.," "Ramona," 
the "Indian question," and "California scenery." 

Once a month a meeting is devoted to current litera- 
ture. The prospectus for the coming season is not yet 
definitely outlined. V/e will probably confine our course 
of study to the events which led to the French revolu- 
tion, the period of the revolution, and the history of 
France from that period to the present time. 



52 RECORD OF CLUBS. 

The officers of the Inter Se Club are elected annually. 
They are: a president, a vice president, and a secretary and 
treasurer. The annual dues are paid quarterly. The 
object of this fund is to purchase books or magazines 
necessary for carrying on the course of study. These 
books become the property of the club. The meetings 
of the club are semi-monthly. Its membership is limited 

to fifteen. 

Mrs. Martha C. King. 



THE MOBILE READING CLUB. 



MRS. ERWIN CRAIGHEAD. 



The Mobile Reading Club, organized in the winter 
of 1882 by Mrs. John R. Tompkins, Mrs. Erwin Craig- 
head, and Miss Leila Ledyard, is probably the oldest 
literary club in the state. Its object in the beginning 
was to entertain, rather than to instruct, but the tenden- 
cies of its membership soon developed a distinctively 
literary purpose. 

Under the leadership of Mrs. Tompkins, a woman of 
unusual literary attainments and personal magnetism, 
the club settled down to real earnest study. Mrs. Tomp- 
kins was the first president of the club, she was succeeded 
by Mrs. Erwin Craighead, and Mrs. Electra Semmes- 
Colston is its present presiding officer. 

The meetings were held at the home of the first 
president during her lifetime, and later in the rooms of 
the Mobile Library. The club now has comfortable 
quarters of its own in a central part of the city. There 



RECORD OF CLUBS. 53 

were forty members on the roll of the past season. 
Regular schedules of work are formulated by committees, 
and faithfully carried out by the members. 

The work is in the form of original papers, selected 
readings, and discussions under the direction of regularly 
appointed leaders. The titles of the various courses of 
study pursued by the club are: "American Literature," 
"Russia and Her Literature," "Scandinavia," "India and 
Her Theosophy," "Homer," "Tasso," "Germany and Her 
Influence on Modern Civilization," and "The World of 
To-day." 

The work for the coming season includes current, 
miscellaneous, and scientific topics. Specialists will be 
invited to address the club on the subjects in the course 
of study upon which they are authorities. 

The club has done much to encourage a taste for 
literature in Mobile, and has been the inspiration of 
similar clubs in this, and other cities of Alabama. 



OUR READING CIRCLE OF MOBILE. 



This is the way our circle began in February, 1892. 

Like a stormy, dreary night, sickness and sorrow had 
hovered for months over certain homes on, and near, 
Government and Broad Streets, encompassing them with 
tears, heart-aches, and retrospection. 

One morning, Mrs. R. V. Taylor proposed to Mrs. 
Harry Pillans and Mrs. Walter Williamson that they go 
over and sit with Mrs. J. F. Ross, and brighten some of 
the weary passing hours by reading, chatting and sewing 



54 RECORD OF CLUBS. 

together. It proved so cheery and helpful that they 
repeated it again and again, until it grew into a delightful 
weekly gathering. 

The following spring Mrs. Eugene StoUenwerck and 
the writer were invited to unite with them, which honor 
was heartily accepted. 

As increase of numbers multiplies the difficulty of 
obtaining a concensus of congenial taste in reading matter, 
it became an unwritten law that six should constitute the 
limit of mernbership. 

We assemble, consecutively at our homes, every 
Friday at 1 1 o'clock, and the exercises continue until 3 
o' clock. 

The hostess reads aloud while the others sew. The 
dictionary, atlas, and books of reference are assigned to 
different ones, who search out mis-pronounced or chal- 
lenged words, historic or scientific allusions. 

Current literature embodies our course, and, when 
tea and sandwiches are served at noon, the merits, style, 
and characteristics of the authors that we are studying are 
freely discussed and criticised. 

We have no formal president, nor by-laws ; but our 
meetings are so improving and helpful that the members 
allow nothing save the inevitable to be prevent attend- 
ance upon them. 

Mrs. LeVert Clark fills the vacancy caused by Mrs. 
Stollenwerck's removal from our city. 

On Friday before Christmas, each lady brings an 

inexpensive souvenir of her esteem for the other ladies. 

These are exchanged amid bright smiles and " best 

wishes." 

LiDA B. Robertson. 



■ RECORD OF CLUBS. 55 

THE THURSDAY LITERARY CIRCLE OF 
SELMA. 



It was before the club idea had taken such hold on 
our community that a dozen or more ladies met, by invi- 
tation, one pleasant winter afternoon in the parlors of a 
private residence. No great idea has originated outside 
the brain or heart of an individual, and this thing, which 
we modestly claim, has already accomplished good, is no 
exception. Some one thought of it, some one had an 
impression borne in upon her that an organized circle for 
reading and study was needed, would be helpful, would 
save many from literary stagnation, and would greatly 
delight others who were already alive; and thus we had 
a beginning. A seed divinely dropped in soil ready to 
receive it, which bore in time its legitimate fruit, and this 
meeting, called in the interest of literature, and composed 
of some of the most substantial ladies of the town, gave a 
decided impulse to the growth of the germinal seed. 

There is nothing that proves the value of a thing 
like continuance therein, and looking back, as I do, 
through the lapse of five years, on that interesting after- 
noon, I am compelled to argue that a good, a profitable, 
and a pleasant thing was started, — and substantiate my 
proposition by telling of our steady growth from that day 

to this. 

An organization was made, the customary officers 
elected, and the usual committees appointed. From the 
beginning the impulse was toward solid work, and our 
first programme was made with that idea. 

Our selection was Justin McCarthy's "History of Our 
Own Times," which we read aloud in class, so much as we 
were able, taking the intervening pages between each les- 



56 RECORD OF CLUBS. 

son for home reading. In connection with this history 
we also studied the celebrated writers of the Victorian age. 
Two years was thus occupied, and our circle, which after 
much discussion was named the "Thursday Literary 
Circle," kept up its meetings regularly from October to 
May. It was interesting to see the older ladies of our 
number book in hand turning their steps each Thursday 
afternoon in the direction of the weekly meeting-place. 
Many an hour was thus agreeably spent, and much con- 
cord and harmony of spirit prevailed. 

Following a general rule, except where a really dis- 
cordant spirit obtrudes, as ladies grow in knowledge, 
they also grow in personal interest and warmth of feeling 
for each other. And just here sisters in literary work 
permit a word; beware of the spirit of unfriendly criti- 
cism, it is unkind, it is unladylike, and often it is unjust. 
Let the braver and greater souls of your number crush 
out its first manifestations. No leader, especially, can 
work successfully without some expression of confidence 
and approbation, that is her only reward. 

Our third year's work was devoted to Shakespeare* 
"Henry VIII," "Midsummer Night's Dream," "Twelfth 
Night," and "Two Gentlemen of Verona," were the 
plays chosen, and the exercises consisted of reading aloud, 
different parts being given out among the ladies present. 
The historical situations of the plays were discussed, 
and collateral art studies were taken. The year was 
much enjoyed and was considered very profitable. 

There was an absence of thorough organization during 
the first months of the fourth year, and the work be- 
gan less auspiciously, but many declared at the end that 
it was, "perfectly charming." 



RECORD OF CLUBS. 57 

"American Men of Letters," was our general subject. 
The first eight meetings were given to Emerson; then 
six to Lowel; six to Holmes; four to Hawthorne; two to 
C. D. Warner; and the remaining two or three to writers 
of less prominence. 

While we felt, on reviewing the work for the year, 
that we had only "tasted the good fruit," yet we did feel 
a more intimate acquaintance with our own authors, and 
especially by comparison. 

The fifth year was given to more solid work again, 
"Eighteen Christian Centuries" by White, was the text- 
book. It was read after the same plan we had used in 
reading the "History of Our Own Times." 

In connection with, and as an elaboration of this 
somewhat condensed work, we had written essays, and 
selections from different authors on the more important 
events of each century. In this way the "Philosophy of 
History" came under consideration, and made a very 
engaging study. 

Each of us, 1 think, closed our books with the sensa- 
tion that one more good book had been accomplished, 
and something like critical study given to it. 

Another year will find us taking up the study of four 
great cities, Rome, Florence, London, Paris. The pro- 
gramme is not complete, so I will not attempt to give a 
full description of our projected work, but the bringing 
out of the history indicated by these names, the great 
buildings, monuments, the great men and their times, the 
fine arts, especially that of painting, as well as French, 
English, and Italian hterature, will give us a year of con- 
siderable, as well as interesting work. 



58 RECORD OF CLUBS. 

In all cases, except our fourth year, we have had 
regularly made out and printed programmes, which we 
recommend most heartily. The work must be some- 
what desultory without it. 

Caroline Louise Hooper. 



The officers of the Thursday Literary Circle, and 
the members enrolled in the club book, for the season of 
1894-95, were as follows: 

President, Mrs. Ida Saffold Heidt; Vice Presidents, 
Mrs. C. W. Hooper, Mrs. Frederic Watson; Secretary and 
Treasurer. Mrs. J. G. Converse; Critic, Miss Mary LaF. 
Robbins; Executive Committee, Mrs. Minthorne Woolsey, 
Miss Ella Nelson, Miss Bettie Keith; Members, Mrs. W. 
P. Armstrong, Mrs. Ida S. Heidt, Mrs. J. G. Converse, 
Mrs. M. R. Jarvis, Miss Mary Craig, Miss Lucy Jones, 
Miss Margaret Force, Miss Augusta McKee, Miss 
Adolpha Gillman, Mrs, Philip Milhous, Miss Hattie 
Hooker, Miss Ella Nelson, Miss Katharine HoUey, Miss 
Mary LaF. Robbins, Mrs. E. A. Scott, Mrs. Minthorne 
Woolsey, Mrs. J. L. Bishop, Miss Julia Clarke, Mrs. John 
B. Dortch, Miss Mary Force, Miss Olive Hooper, Miss 
Frances Holley, Mrs. C. W. Hooper, Mrs. John J. 
Hooper, Mrs. L. E. Jeffries, Miss Augusta Jones, Miss 
Bettie Keith, Miss Lyda Nelson, Miss Erin Osborne, 
Miss Elva Stewart, Mrs. Frederic Watson, Miss Mary 
Ware. 



SELECTIONS. 



" Books are made from books.'' 

— Voltaire. 

* -X- * * * * 



^^ Hark, the tvorld so loud, 
And they the movers of the ivorld so still.'' 

— Biihver Lytton 



SELECTIONS. 6 1 

[From "At the Mercy of Tiberius."] 

Once more their hands met, in a long, close grasp, 
then Leo laid on the chancel railing a large square 
envelope. 

It is only a Christmas card, but so lovely, I know your 
artistic taste cannot fail to admire it ; and it may brighten 
your cheerless room. It is the three-hundred-dollar-prize- 
card, and particularly beautiful." 

" Thank you, dear Miss Gordon. It may help to 
deaden the merciless stings of memory, which all day long 
has tortured me by unrolling the past, where my Christ- 
mas days stand out like illuminated capitals on black- 
letter pages," 

Deaden the stings of memory ? What spell suddenly 
evoked the image of her iiivalid mother, all the details of 
the attic room, the litter of pencils on the table ; the 
windows of a florist's shop where, standing on the pave- 
ment, she had studied hungrily the shapes of the blossoms 
poverty denied her as models, the interior of the Creche, 
which she had penetrated in order to sketch the heads 
of sleeping babies, as a study for cherubs? 

Leo had almost reached the door, when a passionate, 
indescribably mournful cry arrested her steps. 

" Too late !— too late ! O, God ! What a cruel 
mockery ! " 

Beryl stood leaning against the railing of the altar, 
with the light of the setting sun falling aslant on the 
gilded card she held up in one hand ; on her white con- 
vulsed face, where tears fell in a scalding flood. Retracing 
her steps, Leo said falteringly : 

" In my efforts to comfort you, have I only wounded 
more sorely ? How have I hurt you ? What can I do ? " 

" No — no ! You are an angel of pity, hovering over 
an abyss of ruin, whose darkest horrors you only imagine 
faintly. What can you do ? Nothing, but pray to God 
to paralyze my tongue, and grant me death, before I lose 
my last clutch on faith, and curse my Creator, and drift 



62 SELECTIONS. 

down to eternal perdition ! It was hard enough before, 
but this mockery maddens." 

With a sudden abandonment, she hurled the card 
away, threw her arms around Leo's neck and sobbed 
unrestrainedly. Tenderly the latter held her shivering 
form, as the proud head fell on her shoulder ; and after a 
time, Beryl lifted a face white as an annunciation lily, 
drenched by tropical rain. 

" I thought misfortune had emptied all her vials, and 
I was nerved, because there was nothing more to dread. 
But the worst is always behind, and this is the irony of 
fate. You think that merely a rhetorical metaphor, a 
tragic trope ? How should you know ? minders of ' what 
might have been.' My coveted three hundred dollars ! 
Three hundred taunting fiends ! to jeer and torment me. 
The Christmas sun will shine on a pauper's empty cot in 
a charity hospital ; on a disgraced, insulted, forsaken 
convict. Take away this last mockery, it is more than I 
can bear. There on the back in gilt letters — Prize Card — 
Three hundred Dollars ! Yet a stranger paid for my 
mother's cofifin, and — . Three hundred furies to lash my 
heart out! Too late! Take it away! too late! oh, too 
late ! This is worse than the pangs of death." 

* * » ■» * * * * * 

"I can call no witnesses; for it is one of the terrible 
fatalities of my situation that I stand alone, with none 
to corroborate my assertions. Strange, inexplicable 
coincidences drag me down; not the malice of men, 
but the throttling grasp of circumstances. I am the 
victim of some diabolical fate, which only innocent 
blood will appease; but though I am slaughtered for 
crimes I did not commit, I know, oh! I know, that 
behind fate, stands God ! — the just and eternal God, 
whom I trust, even in this my hour of extremest peril. 
Alone in the world, orphaned, reviled, wrecked for all 
time, without a ray of hope, I, Beryl Brentano, deny 
every accusation brought against me in this cruel arraign- 
ment; and I call my only witness, the righteous God 



SELECTIONS. 63 

above us. to hear in)- solemn asseveration:. I am innocent 
of this crime; and when \ou judicially murder me in the 
name of Justice, your hands will be dyed in blood that 
an avenging God will one day require of you. Appear- 
ances, circumstances, coincidences of time and place, each, 
all, conspire to hunt me into a convict's grave; but remem- 
ber, my twelve judges, remember that a hopeless, for- 
saken, broken-hearted woman, expecting to die at your 
hands, stood before you, and pleaded first and last — Not 
Guilty ! Not Guilty !'— * * * - 

'Wimmen are as hard to live peaceable with as a 
hatful of hornets, but the'r brains works spryer even than 
the'r tongues; and they do think as much faster 'an a man 
as a express train beats er eight ox-team. Dyce is the 
safetest sign-post! If she was only here now, I couldn't 
botch things, for she sees clare through a mill-stone, and 
she'd shove me the right way. If I go a huntin', I may 
flounder into a steel trap; if I stand still, wuss may 
happen. Mars Lennox is too much forme. I wouldn't 
trust him no further'n I would a fat possum. I am 
afeard of his oily tongue. He sot out to hang that poor 
young gal, and now he is willing to pay two hundred and 
fifty dollars to show the court he was a idjut and a 
slanderer! I ain't gwine to set down on no such spring 
gun as that! Dyce ought to be here. When Mars 
Lennox turns sumersets in the court, before the judge, I 
don't want to belong to his circus — but, oh Lord! If I 
could find out which side he rally is on?" * * * - 



CHAPTER XIX. 



Friday, the fifth and last day of the trial, was 
ushered in by a tempest of wind and rain, that drove the 
blinding sheets of sleet against the court-house windows 
with the insistence of an icy flail; while now and then 
with spasmodic bursts of fury the gale heightened, 
rattled the sash, moaned hysterically, like invisible fiends 



64 SELECTIONS. 

tearing at the obstacles that barred entrance. So dense 
was the gloom pervading the court-room, that every gas 
jet was burning at ten o'clock, when Mr. Dunbar rose 
and took a position close to the jury-box. The gray 
pallor of his sternly set face increased his resemblance to 
a statue of the Julian type, and he looked rigid as granite, 
as he turned his brilliant eyes full of blue fire upon the 
grave, upturned countenances of the twelve umpires : 

"Gentlemen of the Jury : The sanctity of human 
life is the foundation on which society rests, and its 
preservation is the supreme aim of all human legislation. 
Rights of property, of liberty, are merely conditional, 
subordinated to the superlative, divine right of life. 
Labor creates property, law secures liberty, but God 
alone gives life; and woe to that tribunal, to those conse- 
crated priests of divine justice, who, sworn to lay aside 
passion and prejudice, and to array themselves in the 
immaculate robes of a juror's impartiality, yet profane 
the loftiest perogative with which civilized society can 
invest mankind, and sacrilegiously extinguish, in the 
name of justice, that sacred spark which only Jehovah's 
fiat kindles. To the same astute and unchanging race, 
whose relentless code of jurisprudence demanded 'an eye 
for an eye. a tooth for a tooth, a life for a life,' we owe 
the instructive picture of cautious inquiry, of tender 
solicitude for the inviolability of human life, that glows 
in immortal lustre on the pages of the 'Mechilta of the 
Talmud. In the trial of a Hebrew criminal, there were 
'Lactees' consisting of two men, one of whom stood at 
the door of the court, with a red flag in his hand, and the 
other sat on a white horse at some distance on the road 
that led to execution. Each of these men cried aloud 
continually, the name of the suspected criminal, of the 
witnesses, and his crime; and vehemently called upon any 
person who knew anything in his favor to come forward 
and testify. Have we, supercilious braggarts of this age 
of progress, attained the prudential wisdom of Sanhedrim? 

"The State pays an ofificer to sift, probe, collect and 
array the evidences of crime, with which the criminal is 



SELECTIONS. 65 

stoned to death; does it likewise commission and com- 
pensate an equally painstaking. l)'nx-eyed official whose 
sole duty is to hunt and proclaim proofs of the innocence 
of the accused? The great body of the commonwealth 
is committed in revengeful zeal to prosecution; upon 
whom devolves the doubly sacred and imperative duty of 
defense? Are you not here to give judgment in a cause 
based on an indictment by a secret tribunal, where 
ex parte testimony was alone received, and the voice of 
defense could not be heard ? The law infers that the 
keen instinct of self-preservation will force the accused to 
secure the strongest possible legal defenders; and failing 
in this, the law perfunctorily assigns counsel to present 
testimony in defense. Do .he scales balance? 

"Imagine a race for heavy stakes; the judges tap the 
bell; three or four superb thoroughbreds carefully trained 
on that track, laboriously groomed, waiting for the 
signal, spring forward; and when the first quarter is 
reached, a belated fifth, handicapped with the knowledge 
that he has made a desperately bad start, bounds after 
them. If by dint of some superhuman grace vouchsafed, 
some latent strain, some most unexpected speed, he 
nears, overtakes, runs neck and neck, slowly gains, passes 
all four and dashes breathless and quivering under the 
string, a whole length ahead, the world of spectators 
shouts, the judges smile, and number five wins the stakes. 
But was the race fair? 

"Is not justice, the beloved goddess of our idolatry, 
sometimes so blinded by clouds of argument, and con- 
fused by clamor that she fails indeed to see the dip of 
the beam? If the accused be guilty and escape convic- 
tion, he still lives; and while it i;- provided that no one 
can be twice put in jeopardy of his life for the same 
offense, vicious tendencies impel to renewal of crime, and 
Nemesis, the retriever of justice, may yet hunt him 
down. If the accused be innocent as the archangels, but 
suffer conviction and execution, what expiation can jus- 
tice offer for judicially slaughtering him? Are the 
chances even ? 



66 SELECTIONS. 

"All along the dim vista of the annals of criminal 
jurisprudence, stand grim memorials that mark the sub- 
stitution of innocent victims for guilty criminals; and 
they are solemn sign-posts of warning, melancholy as the 
whitening bones of perished caravans in desert sands. 
History relates, and tradition embalms, a sad incident of 
the era of the Council of Ten, when an innocent boy was 
seized, tried and executed for the murder of a nobleman, 
whose real assassin confessed the crime many years subse- 
quent. In commemoration of the public horror manifested 
when the truth was published, Venice decreed that 
henceforth a crier should proclaim in the Tribunal just 
before a death sentence was pronounced, '^Ricordatev 
del povero Marcolini! remember the poor Marcolini;z 
beware of merely circumstantial evidence. 

"Gentlemen of the jury, to save you from the com- 
mission of a wrong even more cruel, I come to-day to set 
before you clearly the facts, elicited from witnesses which 
the honorable and able counsel for the prosecution 
declined to cross-examine. An able expounder of the law 
of evidence has warned us that : 'The force of circum- 
stantial evidence being exclusive in its nature, and the 
mere coincidence of the hypothesis with the circum- 
stances, being, in the abstract, insufficient, unless they 
exclude every other supposition, it is essential to inquire, 
with the most scrupulous attention, what other hypo- 
theses there -may be, agreeing wholly or partially with the 
facts in evidence.' 

" A man of very marked appearance was seen running 
toward the railroad, on the night of the twenty-sixth, 
evidently goaded by some unusual necessity to leave 
the neighborhood of X — - — before the arrival of the 
passenger express. It is proved that he passed the 
station exactly at the time the prisoner deposed she 
heard the voice, and the half of the envelope that enclosed 
the missing will, was found at the spot where the same 
person was seen, only a few moments later. Four days 
afterward, this man entered a small station in Pennsyl- 
■^ania, paid for a railroad ticket, with a coin identical in 



SELECTIONS. 6/ 

value and appearance with those stolen from the tin box, 
and as if foreordained to publish the steps he was trying 
to efface, accidentally left behind him the trumpet- 
tongued fragment of envelope, that exactly fitted into 
the torn strip dropped at the bridge. The most exhaustive 
and diligent search shows that stranger was seen by no one 
else in X ; that he came as a thief in the night, pro- 
vided with chloroform to drug his intended victim, and 
having been detected in the act of burglariously abstracting 
the contents of the tin box, fought with, and killed the 
venerable old man, whom he had robbed. 

Under cover of storm and darkness he escaped with 
his plunder, to some point north of X where doubt- 
less he boarded (unperceived) the freight train, and at 
some convenient point slipped into a wooded country, 
and made his way to Pennsylvania. Why were valuable 
bonds untouched ? Because they might aid in betraying 
him. What conceivable interest had he in the destruc- 
tion of Gen'l Darrington's will? It is in evidence, that 
the lamp was burning, and the contents of that envelope 
could have possessed no value for a man ignorant of the 
provisions of the will ; and the superscription it was 
impossible to misread. Suppose that this mysterious per- 
son was fully cognizant of the family secrets of the Dar- 
ringtons? Suppose that he knew that Mrs. Brentano and 
her daughter would inherit a large fortune, if Gen'l DaJ- 
rington died intestate? If he had wooed and won the 
heart of the daughter, and believed that her rights had been 
sacrificed to promote the aggrandizement of an alien, the 
adopted step-son Prince, had not such a man, the accepted 
lover of the daughter, a personal interest in the provisons 
of a will which disinherited Mrs. Brentano, and her child ? 
Have you not now, motive means, and opportunity, and, 
links of evidence that point to this man as the real agent, 
the guilty author of the awful crime we are all leagued in 
solemn legal covenant to punish ? Suppose that fully 

aware of the prisoner's mission to X , he had secretly 

followed her, and supplemented her afternoon visit, by 
the fatal interview of the night ? Doubtless he had 



68 SELECTIONS. 

intended escorting lier home, but when the frighiful 
tragedy was completed, the curse of Cain drove him, in 
terror, to instant flight : and he sought safety in western 
wilds, leaving his innocent and hapless betrothed to bear 
the penalty of his crime. The handle erchief used to 
administer chloroform, bore her initials ; was doubtless a 
souvenir given in days gone by to that unworthy miscreant, 
as a token of affection, by the trusting woman he deserted 
in the hour of peril. In this solution of an awful enigma, 
is there any undue strain upon credulity; is there any 
antagonism of facts, which the torn envelope, the pipe, 
the twenty-dollar gold pieces seen in Pennsylvania, do 
not reconcile ? 

"A justly celebrated writer on the law of evidence 
has wisely said : 'In criminal cases, the statement made 
by the accused is of essential importance in some points 
of view. Such is the complexity of human affairs, and 
so infinite the combinations of circumstances, that the 
true hypothesis which is capable of explaining and reunit- 
ing all the apparently conflicting circumstances of the 
case, may escape the acutest penetration ; but the 
prisoner, so far as he alone is concerned, can always 
afford a clue to them; and though he may be unable to 
support his statement by evidence, his account of the 
transaction is, for this purpose, always most material and 
important. The effect may be to suggest a view, which 
consists with the innocence of the accused, and might 
otherwise have escaped observation.' 

"During the preliminary examination of this pris- 
oner in October, she inadvertently furnished this clue, 
when, in explaining her absence from the station house, 
she stated that suddenly awakened from sleep, 'she heard 
the voice of one she knew and loved, and ran out to seek 
the speaker.' Twice she has repeated the conversation 
she heard, and every word is corroborated by the witness 
who saw and talked with the owner of that 'beloved 
voice.' When asked to give the name of that man, 
whom she expected to find in the street, she falters, 
refuses; love seals her lips, and the fact that she will die 



SELECTIONS. 69 

sooner than yield tliat which must bring him to summary 
justice, is alone sufficient to fix the guilt upon the real 
culprit. 

"There is a rule in criminal jurisprudence, that 
'presumptive evidence ought never to be relied on, 
when direct testimon3^ is wilfully withheld.' She shud- 
ders at sight of the handkerchief; did she not give it to 
him, in some happy hour as a tender Ricordo? When 
the pipe which he lost in his precipitate flight is held up 
to the jury, she recognizes it instantly as her lover's 
property, and shivers with horror at the danger of his 
detection and apprehension. Does not this array of 
accusing circumstances demand as careful consideration, 
as the chain held up to your scrutiny by the prosecution? 
In the latter, there is an important link missing, which 
the theory of the defense supplies. When the prisoner 
was arrested and searched, there was found in her posses- 
sion only the exact amount of money, which it is in 
evidence, that she came South to obtain; and which she 
has solemnly affirmed was given to her by Gen'l Dar- 
rington. We know from memoranda found in the rifled 
box, that it contained only a few days previous, five 
hundred dollars in gold. Three twenty-dollar gold coins 
were discovered on the carpet, and one in the vault; 
what became of the remaining three hundred and twenty 
dollars? With the exception of one hundred dollars 
found in the basket of the prisoner, she had only five 
copper pennies in her purse, when so unexpectedly 
arrested, that it was impossible she could have secreted 
anything. Three hundred and twenty dollars disappeared 
in company with the will, and like the torn envelope, two 
of those gold coins lifted their accusing faces in Penn- 
sylvania, where the fugitive from righteous retribution 
paid for the wings that would transport him beyond risk 
of detection. 

" Both theories presented for your careful analysis, 
are based entirely upon circumstantial evidence ; and is 
not the solution I offer less repugnant to the canons of 
credibility, and infinitely less revolting to every instinct 



70 SELECTIONS. 

of honorable manhood, than the horrible hypothesis that 
a refined, cultivated, noble Christian woman, a devoted 
daughter, irreproachable in antecedent life, bearing the 
fiery ordeal of the past four months with a noble heroism 
that commands the involuntary admiration of all who 
have watched her — that such a perfect type of beautiful 
womanhood as the prisoner presents, could deliberately 
plan and execute the vile scheme of theft and murder? 
Gentlemen, she is guilty of but one sin against the peace 
and order of this community : the sin of withholding the 
name of one for whose bloody crime she is not respon- 
sible. Does not her invincible loyalty, her unwavering 
devotion to the craven for whom she suffers, invest her 
with the halo of martyrdom, that appeals most powerfully 
to the noblest'impulses of your nature, that enlists the 
warmest, holiest sympathies lying deep in your manly 
hearts ? Analyze her statement ; every utterance bears 
the stamp of innocence ; and where she cannot explain 
truthfully, she declines to make any explanation. Her's 
is the sin of silence, the grievous evasion of justice by 
non-responsion, whereby the danger she will not avert by 
confession recoils upon her innocent head. Bravely she 
took on her reluctant shoulders the galling burden of 
parental command, and stifling her proud repugnance, 
obediently came — a fair young stranger to ' Elm Bluff,' 
Receiving as a loan the money she came to beg for. 
she hurries away to fufill another solemnly imposed 
injunction. 

" Gentlemen, is there any spot out yonder in God's 
Acre, where violets, blue as the eyes that once smiled 
upon you, now shed their fragrance above the sacred dust 
of your dead darlings ; and the thought of which melts 
your hearts and dims your vision ? Look at this mournful, 
touching witness, which comes from that holy cemetery 
to whisper to your souls, that the hands of the prisoner 
are as pure as those of your idols, folded under the sod. 
Only a little bunch of withered brown flowers, tied with 
a faded blue ribbon, that a poor girl bought with her hard 
earned pennies, and carried to a sick mother, to brighten 



SELECTIONS. /I 

a dreary attic ; only a dead nosegay, which that mother 
requested should be laid as a penitential tribute on the 
tomb of the mother whom she had disobeyed ; and this 
faithful young heart made the pilgrimage and left 
the offering — and in consequence thereof, missed the 
train that would have carried her safely back to her 
mother — and to peace. On the morning after the prelim- 
inary examination I went to the cemetery, and found the 
fatal flowers just where she had placed them, on the great 
marble cross that covers the tomb of ' Helena Tracey — 
wife of Luke Darrington. 

"You husbands and fathers who trust your names, 
your honor, the peace of your hearts — almost the salva- 
tion of your souls — to the women you love ; staking the 
dearest interest of humanity, the sanctity of that heaven 
on earth — j^our stainless homes — upon the fidelity of 
womanhood, can you doubt for one instant, that the 
prisoner will accept death rather than betray the man she 
loves ? No human plummet has sounded the depths of 
a woman's devotion ; no surveyor's chain will ever mark 
the limits of a woman's faithful, patient endurance; and 
only the wings of an archangel can transcend that pinnacle 
to which the sublime principle of self-sacrifice exalts a 
woman's soul. 

" In a quaint old city on the banks of the Pegnitz, 
history records an instance of feminine self-abnegation, 
more enduring than monuments of brass. The law had 
decreed a certain provision for the maintenance of 
orphans ; and two women in dire distress, seeing no 
possible avenue of help, accused themselves falsely of a 
capital crime, and were executed ; thereby securing a 
support for the children they orphaned. 

"As a tireless and vigilant prosecutor of the real 
criminal, the Cain-branded man now wandering in some 
western wild. I charge the prisoner with only one sin, 
suicidal silence; and I commend her to your most tender 
compassion, believing that in every detail and minutia 
she has spoken the truth; and that she is as innocent Of 
the charge in the indictment as you or I. Remembe 



72 SELECTIONS. 

that you have only presumptive proof to guide you in 
this solemn deliberation, and in the absence of direct 
proof, do not be deluded by a glittering sophistry, which 
will soon attempt to persuade you, that : *A presump- 
tion which necessarily arises from circumstances, is very 
often more convincing and more satisfactory than any 
other kind of evidence; it is not within the reach and 
compass of human abilities to invent a train of circum- 
stances, which shall be so connected together as to 
amount to a proof of guilt, without affording opportu- 
nities of contradicting a great part, if not all, of these 
circumstances.' 

"Believe it not; circumstantial evidence has caused' 
as much innocent blood to flow, as the cimeter of Jenghiz 
Khan. The counsel for the, prosecution will tell you that 
every fact in this melancholy case stabs the prisoner, and 
that facts cannot lie. Abstractly and logically considered 
facts certainly do not lie; but let us see whether rhe 
inferences deduced from what we believe to be facts, do 
not sometimes eclipse Ananias and Sapphira! Not long 
ago, the public heart thrilled with horror at the tidings 
of the Ashtabula catastrophe, in which a train of cars 
plunged through a bridge, took fire, and a number of 
passengers were consumed, charred beyond recognition; 
Soon afterward, a poor woman, mother of two children, 
commenced suit against the railway company, alleging 
that her husband had perished in that disaster. The 
evidence adduced was only of a circumstantial nature, as 
the body which had been destroyed by flames, could not 
be found. Searching in the debris zX the fatal spot, she 
had found a bunch of keys, that she positively recognized 
as belonging to her husband, and in his possession when 
he died. One key fitted the clock in her house, and a 
mechanic was ready to swear that he had made such a 
key for the deceased. Another key fitted a chest she 
owned, and still another fitted the door of her house; 
while strongest of all proof, she found a piece of cloth 
which she identified as part of her husband's coat. A 
physician who knew her husband testified that he rode as 



SELECTIONS. 73 

far as Buffalo on the same train with the deceased, on 
the fatal day of the disaster; and another witness deposed 
that he saw the deceased take the train at Buffalo, that 
went down to ruin at Ashtabula. Certainly the chain of 
circumstantial evidence, from veracious facts, seemed 
complete; but lo ! duritif;^ the investigation it was ascer- 
tained beyond doubt, to the great joy of the wife, that 
the husband had never been near Ashtabula, and was 
safe and well at a Pension Home in a Western state. 

"The fate of a very noble and innocent woman is 
now committed to your hands; and only presumptive 
proof is laid before you. 'The circumstance is always 
a fact; the presumption is the inference drawn from that 
fact. It is hence called presumptive proof, because it 
proceeds merely in opinion.' Suffer no brilliant sophistry 
to dazzle your judgment, no remnant of prejudice to 
swerve you from the path of fidelity to your oath. To 
your calm reasoning, your generous manly hearts, \our 
Christian consciences, I resign the desolate prisoner; and 
as you deal with her, so may the God above us, the just 
and holy God who has numbered the hairs of her inno- 
cent hend, deal here and hereafter with you and yours." 

Mr. Wolverton came forward to sum up the evidence 
for the prosecution, and laboriously recapitulated and 
dwelt upon the mass of facts, which he claimed was sus- 
ceptible of but one interpretation, and must compel the 
jury to convict, in accordance with the indictment. 

How long Mr. Wolverton talked, she never knew; 
but the lull that succeeded was broken by the tones of 
Judge Parkman. 

"Beryl Brentano, it is my duty to remind you that 
this is the last opportunity the law allows you, to speak 
in your own vindication. The testimony has all been 
presented to those appointed to decide upon its value. If 
there be any final statement that you may desire to offer 
in self-defense, you must make it now." 

Could the hundreds who watched and waited ever 
forget the sight of that superb, erect figure, that exquisite 
face, proud as Hypatia's, patient as Perpetua's; or the 



74 SELECTIONS. 

sound of that pathetic, unwavering voice? Mournfully, 
yet steadily, she raised her great gray eyes, darkened by 
the violet shadows suffering had cast, and looked at her 
judges. 

*I am guiltless of any and all crime. I have neither 
robbed, nor murdered; and I am neither principal, nor 
accomplice in the horrible sin imputed to me. I know 
nothing of the chloroform; T never touched the andiron; 
I never saw Gen'l Darrington but once. He gave me the 
gold and the sapphires, and I am as innocent of his death, 
and of the destruction of his will as the sinless little chil- 
dren who prattle at your iiresides, and nestle to sleep in 
your arms. My life has been disgraced and ruined by no 
act of mine, for I have kept my hands, my heart, my soul, 
as pure and free from crime as they were when God gave 
them to me. I am the helpless prey of suspicion, and 
the guiltless victim of the law. O, my judges! I do not 
crave your mercy — that is the despairing prayer of con- 
scious guilt; I demand at your hands, justice." 

The rushing sound as of a coming flood filled her 
ears, and her words echoed vaguely from some immeas- 
urably distant height. The gaslights seemed whirling in 
a Walpurgis maze, as she sat down and once more veiled 
her face in her hands. 

When she recovered sufificiently to listen, Mr. 
Churchill had risen for the closing speech of the prose- 
cution. 

"Gentlemen of the Jury : I were a blot upon a 
noble profession, a disgrace to honorable manhood, and a 
monster in my own estimation, If I could approach the 
fatal Finis of this melancholy trial, without painful 
emotions of profound regret, that the solemn responsi- 
bility of my of^cial position makes me the reluctant 
bearer of the last stern message uttered by retributive 
justice. How infinitely more enviable the duty of the 
Amicus Curies, my gallant friend and quondam col- 
league, who in voluntary defense has so ingeniously, 
eloquently and nobly led a forlorn hope, that he knew 
was already irretrievably lost ? Desperate, indeed, must 



SELECTIONS. 75 

he deem that cause for which he battles so valiantly, 
when dire extremity goads him to lift a rebellious and 
unfilial voice aginst the provisions of his foster mother, 
Criminal Jurisprudence, in whose service he won the 
brilliant distinction and crown of laurel that excite the 
admiration and envy of a large family of his less fortunate 
foster-brothers. I honor his heroism, applaud his chival- 
rous zeal, and wish that I stood in his place : but not 
mine the privilege of mounting the white horse, and 
waving the red flag of the ' Lactees.' Dedicated to the 
mournful rites of justice, I have laid an iron hand on the 
quivering lips of pity, that cried to me like the voice of 
one of my own little ones : and very sorrowfully, at the 
command of conscience, reason and my official duty, I 
obey the mandate to ring down the black curtain on a 
terrible tragedy, feeling like Dante when he confronted 
the doomed — 

"' And to a part I come, where no light shines." 

So clearly and ably has my distinguished associate. Mr. 
Wolverton, presented all the legal points bearing upon 
the nature and value of the proof, submitted for your 
examination, that any attempt to buttress his powerful 
argument, were an unpardonable reflection upon your 
intelligence, and his skill ; and I shall confine my last 
effort in behalf of justice, to a brief analysis and compar- 
ison of the hypothesis of the defence, with the verified 
result of the prosecution. 

" Beautiful and sparkling as the frail glass of Murano, 
and equally as thin, as treacherously brittle, is the theory 
so skillfully manufactured in behalf of the accused ; and 
so adroitly exhibited that the ingenious facets catch every 
possible gleam, and for a moment almost dazzle the eyes 
of the beholder. In attempting to cast a lance against 
the shield of circumstantial evidence, his weapon 
rebounded, recoiled upon his fine spun crystal and 
shivered it. What were the materials wherewith he 
worked ? Circumstances, strained, well nigh dislo- 
cated by the effort to force them to fit into his 



76 SELECTIONS. 

Procrustean measure. A man was seen on the night of 
the twenty-sixth, who appeared unduly anxious to quit 

X before dayhght ; and again the mysterious stranger 

was seen in a distant town in Pennsylvania, where he 
showed some gold coins of a certain denomination, and 
dropped on the floor one-half of an envelope, that once 
contained a will. In view of these circumstances (the 
prosecution calls them facts), the counsel for the defense 
presiunes that said stranger committed the murder, stole 
the will ; and offers this opinion as presumptive proof 
that the prisoner is innocent. The argument runs thus : 
this man was an accepted lover of the accused, and there- 
fore he must have destroyed the will that beggared his 
betrothed; but it is nowhere in evidence, that any lover 
existed, ouside of the counsel's imagination; yet Asmo- 
deus like he must appear when called for, and so we are 
expected to infer, assume, presume that because he stole 
the will he must be her lover. Does it not make your 
head swim to spin round in this circle of reasoning ? In 
assailing the validity of circumstantial evidence, has he 
not cut his bridges, burned his ships behind him ? 

" Gentlemen, fain would I seize this theory were it 
credible, and setting thereon, as in an ark, this most unfor- 
tunate prisoner, float her safely through the deluge of 
ruin, anchor her in peaceful security on some far-off 
Ararat ; but it has gone to pieces in the hands of its 
architect. Instead of rescuing the drowning, the wreck 
serves only to beat her down. If we accept the hypoth- 
esis of a lover at all, it will furnish the missing link in the 
terrible chain that clanks around the luckless prisoner. 
The disappearance of the three hundred and twenty 
dollars has sorely perplexed the prosecution, and unex- 
pectedly the defense offers us the one circumstance we 
lacked ; the lover was lurking in the neighborhood, to 
learn the result of the visit, to escort her home ; and to 
him the prisoner gave the missing gold, to him entrusted 
the destruction of the will. If that man came to ' Elm 
Bluff' prepared to rob and murder, by whom was he 
incited and instigated; and who was the accessory, and 



SELECTIONS. "JJ 

particeps criminis ? The prisoner's handkerchief was the 
medium of chloroforming that venerable old man. and 
can there be a reasonable doubt that she aided in admin- 
istering it ? 

" The prosecution could not explain why she came 
from the direction of the railroad bridge, which was far 
out of her way from ' Elm Hluff ; ' but the defense 
gives the most satisfactory solution : she was there, 
dividing her blood-stained spoils with the equally 
guilty accomplice — her lover. The prosecution brings to 
the bar of retribution only one criminal ; the defense not 
only fastens the links upon this unhappy woman, by 
supplying the missing links, but proves premeditation, by 
the person of an accomplice. P'our months have been 
spent in huntin \ some fact that would tend to exculpate 
the accused, but each circumstance dragged to light serves 
only to swell the dismal chorus, ' Woe to the guilty.' 
To-day she sits in the ashes of desolation, condemned by 
the unanimous evidence of every known fact connected 
with this awful tragedy. To oppose this black and 
frightful host of proofs, what does she offer us ? Simply 
her bare, solemnly reiterated denial of guilt. We hold 
our breath, hoping against hope that she will give some 
explanation, some solution, that our pitying hearts are 
waiting so eager to hear ; but dumb as the Sphinx, she 
awaits her doom. You will weigh that bare denial in 
the scale with the evidence, and in this momentous duty 
recollect the cautious admonition that has been furnished 
to guide you : ' Conceding that asseverations of inno- 
cence are always deserving of consideration by the 
executive, what is there to invest them with a conclusive 
efficacy, in opposition to a chain of presumptive evidence, 
the force and weight of which falls short only of mathe- 
matical demonstration?' The astute and eloquent 
counsel for defense, has cited some well-known cases, to 
shake your faith in the value of merely presumptive 
proof. 

"I offer for your consideration, an instance of the 
fallibility of merely bare, unsupported denial of guilt, on 



78 SELECTIONS, 

the part of the accused. A priest at Lauterbach was 
suspected, arrested and tried for the murder of a woman, 
under very aggravated circumstances. He was subjected 
to eighty examinations; and each time solemnly denied 
the crime. Even when confronted at midnight with the 
skull of the victim murdered eight years before, he 
vehemently protested his innocence, and appealed to the 
Holy Trinity to proclaim his innocence. Finally he con- 
fessed his crime; testified that while cutting the throat of 
his victim, he had exhorted her to repentance, had given 
her absolution, and that having concealed the corpse, he 
had said masses for her soul. 

"The forlorn and hopeless condition of the prisoner 
at this bar, appeals pathetically to that compassion which 
we are taught to believe co-exists with justice, even in 
the omnipotent God we worship; yet in the face of incon- 
trovertible facts elicited from reliable witnesses, of coin- 
cidences which no theory of accident can explain, can 
we stifle convictions, solely because she pleads ' not 
guilty?' Pertinent, indeed, was the ringing cry of that 
ancient prosecutor: 'Most illustrious Caesar! if denial of 
guilt be sufificient defense, who would ever be convicted?' 
You have been assured that inferences drawn from 
probable facts eclipse the stupendous falsehood of 
Ananias and Sapphira ! Then the same family strain 
inevitably crops out, in the loosely-woven web of defen- 
sive presumptive evidence — whose pedigree we trace to 
the same parentage. God forbid that I should commit 
the sacrilege of arrogating His divine attribute — infalli- 
bility — for any human authority, however exalted; or 
claim it for any amount of proof, presumptive or 
postive. ' It is because humanity, even when most 
cautious and discriminating^ is so rnournfully fallible 
and prone to error, that in judging its own frailty 
we require the aid and reverently invoke the guid- 
ance of Jehovah.' In your solemn deliberations 
bear in mind this epitome of ah opinion, entitled 
to more than a passing consideration : ' Perhaps 
strong circumstantial evidence in cases of crime, com- 



SELKCTIONS. 79 

mitted for the most part in secret, is the most satisfactory 
of any from whence to draw the conclusion of guilt; for 
men may be seduced to perjury, by many base motives ; 
but it can scarcely happen that many circumstances, 
especially if they be such over which the accuser could 
have no control, forming altogether the links of a transac- 
tion, should all unfortunately concur to fix the presump- 
tion of guilt on an individual, and yet such a conclusion 
be erroneous.' 

"Gentlemen of the jury: the prosecution believes 
that the overwhelming mass of evidence laid before you 
proves, beyond a reasonable doubt, that the prisoner did 
premeditatedly murder and rob Robert Luke Darrington ; 
and in the name of justice, we demand that you vindicate 
the majesty of outraged law, by rendering a verdict of 
'guilty. AH the evidence in this case points the finger 
of doom at the prisoner, as to the time, the place, the 
opportunity, the means, the conduct and the motive. 
Suffer not sympathy for youthful womanhood and won- 
derful beauty, to make you recreant to the obligations 
of your oath, to decide this issue of life or death, strictly 
in accordance with the proofs presented ; and bitterly 
painful as is your impending duty, do not allow the wail of 
pity to drown the demands of justice, or the voice of that 
blood that cries to heaven for vengeance upon the mur- 
deress. May the righteous God who rules the destinies 
of the universe guide you, and enable you to perform 
faithfully your awful duty." 

Judge Parkman leaned forward. 

"Gentlemen of the jury: before entering that box, as 
the appointed ministers of justice, to arbitrate upon the 
most momentous issue that can engage human attention — 
the life or death of a fellow creature — you called your 
Maker to witness that you would divest your minds of 
every shadow of prejudice, would calmly, carefully, 
dispassionately consider, analyze and weigh the evidence 
submitted for your investigation ; and, irrespective of 
consequences, render a verdict in strict accordance with 
the proofs presented. You have listened to the testimony 



8o SELECTIONS. 

of the witnesses, to the theory of the prosecution* 
to the theory of the counsel for the defense ; you 
have heard the statement of the accused, her repeated 
denial^ of the crime with which she stands charged ; 
and finally you have heard the arguments of counsel, 
the summing up of all the evidence, the peculiar charac- 
ter of some of the facts presented as proof, requires 
on your part the keenest and most exhaustive analysis 
of the inferences to be drawn from them, and you 'have 
need of patience, wisdom and courage.' While it is 
impossible that you can contemplate the distressing con- 
dition of the accused without emotions of profound 
compassion, your duty 'is prescribed by the law, which 
allows you no liberty to indulge any sentiment, incon- 
sistent with its strict performance.' You should begin 
with the legal presumption that the prisoner is innocent, 
and that presumption must continue, until her guilt is 
satisfactorily proved. This is the legal right of the pris- 
oner ; contingent on no peculiar circumstances of any 
particular case, but is the common right of every person 
accused of a crime. The law surrounds the prisoner with 
a coat of mail, that only irrefragable proofs of guilt can 
pierce, and the law declares her innocent, unless the proof 
you have heard on her trial satisfies you, bey©nd a rea- 
sonable doubt, that she is guilty. What constitutes 
reasonable doubt, it becomes your duty to earnestly and 
carefully consider. It is charged that the defendant, 
on the night of the twenty-sixth of October, did 
wilfully, deliberately and premeditatedly murder Robert 
Luke Darrington, by striking him with a brass 
andiron. The legal definition of murder is the 
unlawful killing of another, with malice aforethought; 
and is divided into two degrees. Any murder com- 
mitted knowingly, intentionally and wantonly, and 
without just cause or excuse, is murder in the first degree; 
and this is the offense charged against the prisoner at 
the bar. If you believe from the evidence, that the 
defendant. Beryl Brentano, did at the time and place 
named, wilfully and premeditatedly kill Robert Luke 



SELECTIONS. 8 1 

Darrington. then it will become your duty to find the 
defendant guilty of murder; if you do not so believe, then 
it will be your duty to acquit her. A copy of the legal 
definition of homicide, embracing murder in the first and 
second degrees, and of manslaughter in the first and 
second degrees, will be furnished for your instruction ; 
and it is your right and privilege after a careful examina- 
tion of all the evidence, to convict of a lesser crime than 
that charged in the indictment, provided all the evidence 
in this case, should so convince your minds, to the exclu- 
sion of a reasonable doubt. 

" In your deliberations you will constantly bear in 
memory, the following long established rules provided 
for the guidance of jurors : 

" 'I. — The burden of proof rests upon the prosecu- 
tion, and does not shift or change to the defendant in 
any phase or stage of the case. 

" 'II. — Before the jury can convict the accused, they 
must be satisfied from the evidence that she is guilty of 
the offense charged in the indictment, beyond a reason- 
able doubt. It is not sufficient that they should believe 
her guilt only probable. No degree of probability merely 
will authorize a conviction; but the evidence must be 
of such character and tendency as to produce a moral 
certainty of the prisoner's guilt, to the exclusion of 
reasonable doubt. 

" 'III. — Each fact which is necessary in the chain of 
circumstances to establish the guilt of the accused, must 
be distinctly proved by competent legal evidence, and if 
the jury' have reasonable doubt as to any material fact, 
necessary to be proved in order to support the hypothesis 
of the prisoner's guilt, to the exclusion of every other 
reasonable hypothesis, they must find her not guilty. 

" 'IV. — If the jury are satisfied from the evidence, 
that the accused is guilty of the offense charged, beyond 
reasonable doubt, and no rational hypothesis or explana- 
tion can be framed or given (upon the whole evidence in 
the cause) consistent with the innocence of the accused, 
and at the same time consistent with the facts proved, 



82 .SELECTIONS. 

they ought to find her guilty. The jury are the exclusive 
judges of the evidence, of its weight, and of the credi- 
bility of the witnesses. It is their duty to accept and be 
governed by the law, as given by the Court in its 
instructions.' 

"The evidence in this case is not direct and positive, 
but presumptive ; and your attention has been called to 
some well known cases of persons convicted of, and 
executed for capital crimes, whose entire innocence was 
subsequently made apparent. These arguments and 
cases only prove that, 'all human evidence, whetherit be 
positive or presumptive in its character, like everything 
else that partakes of mortality, is fallible. The reason 
may be as completely convinced by circumstantial^ — as by 
positive evidence, and yet may possibly not arrive at the 
truth by either.' 

" The true question, therefore, for your considera- 
tion, is not the kind of evidence in this case, but it is, 
what is the result of it in your minds ? If it has failed 
to satisfy you of the guilt of the accused, and your 
minds are not convinced, vacillate in doubt, then you 
must acquit her, be the evidence what it may, positive or 
presumptive; but if the resuu of the whole evidence satis- 
fies you, if you are ccnvinced that she is guilty, then it is 
imperatively your duty to convict her, even if the charac- 
ter of the evidence be wholy circumstantial.. Such is 
the law. 

"In resigning this case to you, I deem it my duty to 
direct your attention to one point, which I suggest that 
you consider. If the accused administered chloroform, 
did it indicate that her original intention was solely to 
rob the vault ? Is the act of administering the chloro- 
form consistent with the theory of deliberate and pre- 
meditated murder ? In examining the fact submitted 
by counsel, take the suggestion just presented, with you, 
and if the facts and circumstances proved against her, 
can be accounted for on the theory of intended, delib- 
erate robbery, without necessarily involving premeditated 



SELECTIONS. 83 

murder, it is your privilege to put that merciful con- 
struction upon them. 

"Gentlemen of the Jury, I commit this mournful 
and terrible case to your decision; and solemnly adjure 
you to be governed in your deliberations, by the evi- 
dence as you understand it, by the law as furnished in 
these instructions, and to render such verdict, as your 
reason compels, as your matured judgment demands, and 
your conscience unhesitatingly approves and sanctions. 
May God direct and control your decision." 



[From " Marstan Hall."] 

Some one has spoken of grief too deep to be remem- 
bered, but in all the years of his life that followed, 
Hillary never forgot the despair that crept over him 
during that wild chaotic night under the Syrian stars. 
There was with him a consciousness of bereavement 
irreparable, but he was stunned, crushed by the sudden- 
ness of the blow, and with one of those inconsistencies, 
common to us all when we know, yet strive to doubt, 
the magnitude of our calamities, he bowed his strickef 
head on the dying girl's folded hands, and even as her 
tired heart-beats grew fainter and fainter, asked agoniz- 
ingly : "How can it be true?" How could those calm 
stars smile so softly, how could the moonbeams glisten 
when her dear face lay cold and white on his bosom ? 

Far out in the blue waves was a white ship, with 
prow turned from the shore, and the foamy waves were 
chasing its lessening sails as if anxious to bid those she 
loved in a distant land "coiTie," ere the r-veet young life 
waning and flickering so sadly, should die out and leave 
them only a memory and a lone grave under eastern 
skies. A mournful wind sighed in the dusky carob 
trees, and the olive groves glistened white and silver in the 
moonlight; cushats murmured in the cloud-like bloom of 
a citron tree, and seagulls screamed as they dipped their 
white wings in the moonlit sea. A rosy light appeared 



84 SELECTI0NS. 

over Jebel-Sunnin's crown and gathering each drifting 
cloudlet as it rolled, like the thistle balls or wind-witches 
of the Tartarian steppes, assumed an immense size and 
soon overspread the heavens with a vaporous mass,' 
tinted v^ith gold, with silver, and with a rare pale violet, 
so softly, dreamily beautiful, one might well think it the 
vail that hides heaven from mortal view. 

But had angels drifted with that rosy cloud Hillary 
had not seen them while the clay-cold figure rested on 
his heart. He was thinking, not of earth's beauty or 
heaven's peace, but of his beloved and the home in a 
distant land, where he first knew and loved her; on the 
grief that would fall as a pall on that happy household, 
when those she loved should know that their darling 
slept by the Syrian sea. 

It would be dreary going home to them where a 
heart-breaking silence must, for all time to come, reign in 
her stead; where, each moment, a book she had handled, 
a flower she loved well, or her harp unstrung and tune- 
less, would pierce his heart with memories of the happier 
days, when she moved amongst them radiant, happy, 
transcendently lovely. Yet, 'twere sadder still to roam 
listless and aimless over the earth, far from all who 
would sympathize with him, bereft of the pure comfort 
of whispering her name when twilight hours come 
on, and stricken hearts yearn for the loved and lost, 
with a sickening loneliness never felt when skies bend 
blue above us, and sunshine cheers with its mellow 
ray. Yes ! he would go home to them; there was 
much he could tell them of her life toward its close that 
would comfort them when their hearts should grow sad 
with the thought that she had not kissed them ere she 
died. 

There was, even in that hour of appalling desolation, 
a vague purpose in his heart to make the most of the life 
stretching so bleakly before him; a life that seemed to 
his hopeless vision a mighty desert, unblest by a single 
green oasis, whose only fountains were bitter, and whose 
only breezes were "winds of death." 



SELECTIONS. 85 

We may conscientiously dwell on the thought of what 
duty exacts from bleeding hearts, but with all our reason- 
ing we know that it is hard to do right under any circum- 
stances, harder still when the burden of grief gets so 
heavy we would fain sit down with it and give up all 
thought or care to bear it. All that we do is to reach our 
hands out dumbly, hoping God will see them and help us, 
grant us peace and resignation, and make us to bide with 
patience the time coming when He has better things- 
eternal peace, eternal rest in store for us. Ah ! so hard 
this weary waiting. 

" The ways are dark and the days are dreary, 

And the dreams of youth are but dust in age, 
And the heart gets hardened, anci the hands grow weary 
Holding them up for their lieritage." 



Old Marjorie was no less delighted than her mistress 
with the reception accorded the pastor and his household, 
and dwelt with pardonable pride on the " congration's " 
having sent "a carridge for her and Railroad all to 
theirselves." 

The old house with its broad piazzas, slanting roof 
and quaint dormer windows, was especially pleasing to 
her, reminding her, as it did, of the beloved home of the 
Marshalls in Culpepper county, where each window "sot 
out from de 'stablishment, like Railroad's eyes when she 
done broke sumthin' and feared she gwine ter ketch it." 

But there came an end to Marjorie's raptures. Late 
in the evening when the guests had all departed, and 
there was no more turkey, nor jelly, nor frosted cake, nor 
strong coffee with which to regale herself, she waxed 
exceedingly sorrowful, and entering the apartment where 
Daisy and Gillian sat exchanging confidences after the 
retirement of their friends, startled Daisy with a coun- 
tenance so lugubrious that she asked in surprise : 

" What is the matter, Marjorie — are you not com- 
fortably fixed for the night ? " 



SELECTIONS. 86 

" Oh yes'm. Fse, got a very 'spectable house — yaller 
wid sto' winders and blin's ; but yer see, Miss Daisy, 
I bin studyin' 'bout Jacob — po' lone critter widdout 
nobody to bake his hoe-cake! and Jacob mighty 'tick'ler 
'bout his hoe-cake. 1 wants yer ter write ter Marse 
Luttrill and tell him ter sen' de ole fool here — and 
be sho' and tell him we's got sto' blin's ter our house. 
Jacob'll like to swing off dem blin's." 

" Very well ; I will write," said Daisy, smiling at 
Marjorie's uneasiness, and doubting if poor old Jacob 
cared to subject himself again to tyranny. 

" I don't b'leve I gwine ter like dese niggers much," 
continued the disaffected Marjorie. " Dey is all mighty 
'ligious, and 'ligious niggers allers steals my chickens. 
Dey got a prar'er meetin' ter'er night, and I, bein' risky- 
catic wanted to play tense like I wuzn't buv 'em, an' tole 
my 'sperunce fur dere 'struction. One mighty sassy yaller 
'oman riz up and sed she was berry glad de lady frum 
furrin parts was so confushusly pious — p'raps she'd head 
de True Reformers, do' she mus' say dat I wore a 
berry streaked shawl fur a follerer ob de Lamb ! De True 
Reformers is de name ob a 'siety dey got, and when enny 
ob 'em dies, dey puts on black frocks and goes to de 
funeral strung out like ducks goin' to de branch. I tole 
dis 'oman I didn't bleve in her Reformers, an ef she 
didn't mine her own bizness, an shet up, her sinivations 
ginst de shawl Marse Guy giv' me wid his own bans 
Chrismas fore las, I'd reform her, and dat mighty quick. 
Den one ob de Fair Repenters riz — now^zV^/deyfair — ink 
pots, all ob 'em !— and sed de Fair Repenters ud be berry 
glad to hab me jinedem — dey wuzn't proud like de True 
Reformers, and committed de blackes' sinner to come in. 
I axed her if she knowed what she was talkin' 'bout — if 
she was conshus dat she was 'sultin' a Marshall of Cul- 
pepper county, Verginny, an' I wuzn't nigh as black as 
she wuz, an' ef she sed it agin Fd lif off dat bonnit 
an' jeck de wool off'n her skull ! " 

L. Ella Byrd. 



SELECTIONS. 87 

[Silhouettes P'rom "Affinites."] 

In Lakeview garden the air was heavy with fragrance 
of roses that shone white and red in the sunshine, and 
glimmered pearly and purple in the shade- The drowsy 
stillness of the June morning might have lulled Vera to 
sleep, had she not been so conscious that this was her 
wedding day. For her the silence throbbed with a thou- 
sand subtly definable voices, which belonged to loved ones 
bidding her adieu. Up in the elm overhead a mocking- 
bird, mad with the joy of his song, was thrilling his 
heart out in a brave desire to tell what never has been 
told, and never can be while the world remains. And the 
leaves flickering about him beat, with their tiny green 
hands, a soft applause for his stirring melody. A big 
black and golden bee hummed in and out of the roses, 
nodding over the trellis as though he relished the per- 
fumed drops left in the pink cups by the night's dew. 
There was a pervading undertone of locust and cricket, 
and the subdued hum of many insects, which dared to 
fancy the world was created for their benefit alone. All 
this had a meaning for Vera, that she never dreamed it 
held before. It seemed to thrill her with a knowledge, 
an appreciation of what she was leaving, in which all 
regret was sweetened by a dreamy hint of summer days 
the future held in store. Within her mind she dimly 
heard the refrain of a poem, whose mystic, passionate 
lines were born of the mocking bird's song, and the 
perfume of flowers. The faintly defined melody thrilled 
her, and she gladly crystalized it into words for her 

tongue was not slow in responding to fancies. 

* ***** 

Night, as if conscious of the great tragedy that had 
been enacted, spread her pitying wings more densely 
over the scene, while beneath the throbbing stars, the 
flowers bent their heads in snow under the tender kiss of 
the trembling dew drop. The pale moon sank reluc- 
tantly, and her doubtful rays seemed to tremble with 
conscious grief as they struggled through the foliage 



88 SELECTIONS. 

and fell in tenderness upon the spot where the groans of 
Floyd Conway had last been heard. The dawn had 
scarcely begun to touch the distant horizon the following 
morning, when his body was found on the beach by a 
group of laughing children, who searching for white 
shells, had been frozen with terror at the sight of a hand 
rising and falling with the crystalline waves on the 
yellow sand. 

■3f -St * * * * 

Their way lay through a forest of firs, and the 
variety of prospect it afforded of hill and dale, wood and 
lawn, was beautiful and romantic. No mark of human 
workmanship was anywhere visible, except where some 
trees had fallen by the stroke of the woodman. The 
streams in the valleys, the lofty trees crowning the 
summit of the hills, the smooth paths winding away and 
losing themselves in the dark woods, and above all, the 
solitude that reigned throughout, composed a scene which 
tended to harmonize and solemnize the mind. 

* * * * * 

The quaint old cathedral at Murano was inspected, 
and then the prow of the gondola was turned towards 
Toreelli. The heavens were intensely blue. The light 
air ruffled the waves. Far to the north-west rose the 
Apulian hills. Now and then a market boat, half cov- 
ered in the rich grasses it carried, drifted by, a floating 
garden. 

° * * -Xr -X- «- * 

A flirt is a rosebud, from which every lover has 
plucked a petal, leaving the thorn for the future husband. 

-s -X- -;f -X- * * 

The gold from those dear soft locks has slipped into 

your heart. 

****** 

If we could only begin life with the experience that 
is beat into us before its close, what a world of mistakes 
and troubles would be avoided. 

****** 



SELECTIONS. 89 

It is a grand nature that can lose sight of self, and 
become interested in the aspirations of others. 

* * ^- -K- -X- -X- 

The kind things said of us are life's sunshine. 

Alice Vivian Brownlee. 



[From " Gleamings From Southland."] 

RETURNING HOME AFTER THE WAR. 



We started before sunrise and had not gone far when 
we beheld the encampment of the troops sent to garrison 
the town. The soldiers were preparing breakfast. 

As this was the first view I had of the Federal army, 
excepting those I saw as prisoners, I looked at them 
throdgh curiosity, but the rest never gave them one 
glance. They had some negro women and children with 
them, the most squalid miserable looking creatures I 
ever beheld. We met some negro men going to join 
them, and the negro boy driving us, shouted ou*", "You 
had better keep away, as the Yankees are hanging all the 
darkies they can get." The owner of the wagon, a white 
man, told us that the owner of one of the old men, who 
was hobbling to the Yankees, had treated him exactly as 
if he were one of his own family. 

At noon we stopped at a charming spot where 
we alighted for dinner, under the shelter of a delight- 
ful grove of oaks. A lady, living near, kindly in- 
invited me to make some coffee upon her kitchen stove. 
She also gave me a pitcher full of sweet milk. After a 
good rest we resumed our journey and several times came 
near having a disaster, one mule taking fright at the 
number of dead horses and cattle of all kinds which 
strewed the way, the enemy having killed all for which 
they had no use. We met hundreds of negroes returning to 
their homes from Montgomery, where they had had a taste 



90 SELECTIONS. 

of freedom, and judging from their appearance, it had 
brought them everything else but happiness. 

As we journeyed along we sang the laments of 
Ireland, as they best accorded with our feelings. Our 
conversation was sad indeed, as we recalled the terrible 
past, and spoke of the gloomy future. Even the wind had 
a melancholy sound sighing through the trees, and be- 
moaned and lamented with us o'er our buried hopes, 
and the graves of that band of unconquered heroes, 
whose names are radiant with immortality. 

The flowers of the forest that fought — aye the foremost, 
The prime of our land are cauld in the clay." 

"We'll hae nae mair ieltin at the ewe milkin, 
Women and bairns are heartless and wae; 
Sighin and moanin ia ilka green loamin. 
The flowers of the forest are a'wede away." 

As we neared Montgomery the country presented a 
rich appearance, and had an air of prosperity. We 
passed many plantations, the homesteads of which were 
magnificent houses, embowered in luxuriant shrubbery 
and lovely flower gardens. 



At dark we stopped at a house twelve miles from 
Montgomery, which was untenanted, except by a few 
negroes in the kitchen. They gave us an empty room to 
lodge in for the night, and a good old negress brought us 
a mattress from her own beds, and put it upon the floor 
We spread a shawl on the floor for the children, 
and the gentlemen improvised bed for themselves in the 
hall. I did not like the idea of sleeping upon the 
negroe's mattress, but my friend did not mind it. As 
it was the best we could get, and being weary with our 
day's jolting, we wrapped ourselves in our shawls and 
had a good night's rest. We were aroused from our 
sweet slumbers at 4 o'clock next morning, it being as 
dark as Erebus, and resumed our journey, When within 
a short distance of Montgomery we came upon the 



SELECTIONS. 9 1 

Federal encampment — the headquarters of the command- 
ing general — where the gentlemen had to have their 
paroles inspected. 

As we journeyed on, camp after camp, came in view, 
filled with the mighty hosts who had taken our fair heritage 
from us. The gentlemen were silent, but the expression 
on their contenances showed the indignation they felt at 
seeing their native land in the hands of the conqueror. 
Oh ! I felt so sad as visions of the terrible past arose in 
review before me. The days, weeks, and months of 
sufferings I had witnessed, and all for naught. Many a 
boyish and manly face, in the full hey-day of life and 
hope, now lying in the silent tomb. But it is not the 
dead we must think of now, for 

"They live immortal, and for them 

We need not drop the tear; 
Each wears a diadem 

In a Celestial sphere." 

We were a solemn company, and the sights greeting 
us on our entrance to the city, did not dispel the gloom. 
The stars and stripes were floating over many of the 
large buildings, and Federal ofificers and privates were 
thronging the streets. We put up at the Exchange 
Hotel, and found in the parlor quite a numberof refugees, 
French people returning to their homes in New Orleans. 

With all of the characteristics of that light-hearted 
people, they were playing the piano and enjoying them- 
selves with as much gusto as if there had never been one 
dark hour in our sunny land. This cheerfulness was 
strange to us, but perhaps it was wise. These people 
had done their duty — had failed — and finding it useless 
to repine were 

"Acting in the living present, 
Heart within and God o'er head." 

Kate Cumimings. 



92 



SELECTIONS. 

THE WEIGHT OF A WORD. 



Have you ever thought of the weight of a word 
That falls in the heart like the song of a bird, 
That gladdens the springtime of memory and youth 
And garlands with cedar the banner of Truth, 
That moistens the harvesting spot of the brain 
Like dew-drops that fall on the meadow of grain 
Or that shrivels the germ and destroys the fruit 
And lies like a worm at the lifeless root ? 

I saw a farmer at break of day 
Hoeing his corn in a careful way; 
An enemy came with a drouth in his eye, 
Discouraged the worker and hurried by, 
The keen-edge blade of the faithful hoe 
Dulled on the earth in the long corn row; 
The weeds sprung up and their feathers tossed 
Over the field and the crop was — lost. 

A sailor launched on an angry bay 

When the heavens entombed the face of day 

The wind arose like a beast in pain, 

And shook on the billows his yellow mane, 

The storm beat down as if cursed the cloud. 

And the waves held up a dripping shroud — 

But, hark ! o'er the waters that wildly raved 

Came a word of cheer and he was — saved. 

A poet passed with a song of God 

Hid in his heart like a gem in a clod. 

His lips were framed to pronounce the thought, 

And the music of rhythm its magic wrought; 

Feeble at first was the happy trill, 

Low was the echo that answered the hill. 

But a jealous friend spoke near his side, 

And on his lips the sweet song — died. 

A woman paused where a chandelier 

Threw in the darkness its poisoned spear; 

Weary and footsore fi'om journeying long, 

She had strayed unawares from the right to the wrong 

Angels were beck'ning her back from the den. 

Hell and its demons were beck'ning her in; 

The tone of an urchin, like one who forgives. 

Drew her back and in heaven ikat sweet word — lives. 



SELECTIONS. 93 

Words! Words! They are little, yet mighty and brave; 

They rescue a nation, an empire save; 

They close up the gaps in a fresn bleeding heart 

That sickness and sorrow have severed apart, 

They fall on the path, like a ray of the sun. 

Where the shadows of death lay so heavy upon; 

They lighten the earth over our blessed dead, 

A word that will comfort, oh! leave not unsaid. 

Kate Slaughter McKinney, in '-Katydid's Poems'' 



(From Poor Soul's Advocate.) 

PADRE FELIPO. 



Monsieur le Cure was puzzled, but he did not like to 
doubt the word of one who was a priest as he was him- 
self. A priest ? The tall, supple youth standing before 
him was more fitting to be one of those mad Spanish 
soldiers, who had so recently gone to New Orleans with 
the new governor, than a healer of world-sick souls. For 
•he had nothing or sancity in his luminous eyes and full 
mouth, usually as richly red as a pomegranate — not a 
trace of asceticism in his perfect face, darker even than 
most faces of Spain. Though his Soutane was torn and 
all stained with rain and heavy dews, an'B clogged about 
the hem with sand, it was worn with careless grace. 
Barefooted, with every pulse throbbing from fatigue and 
faint for food he stood before the old man a suppliant 
for alms — in calling they were equal — yet there was in 
his look the dominance of an irresistible magnetism, 

"Thou wast on thy way from Texas and those who 
traveled with thee were slain by Indians, Padre Felipo?" 
Monsieur le Cure asked after a long silence, wondering 
why he had not gone to New Orleans instead of coming 
here to Mobile. 

"I have told thee the truth, good father." 



94 SELECTIONS, 

Padre Felipo lifte d his head with its crown of close- 
curling black hair and gazed straight down into the per- 
plexed blue eyes of the other. For a moment the old 
man hesitated, but ashamed of himself quickly said ; 

"Since the Holy Mother has guided thy steps to me, 
remain here as long as thou seest fit to do so." 

"To aid thee in thy work ?" Padre Felipo ques- 
tioned and added, "the dear saints know I will do all I 
can for thee." 

"Dost thou not fear to stay? The yellow fever is in 
the Settlement and we have much distress among us. Yet 
I should be glad if thou wouldst dwell with us for a time, 
for I can scarcely do that which I ought among my people. 
What with the offices for the dying and dead I cannot 
find a moment to go to those who need the sickness of 
their souls cured." 

His doubt and incertitude fled when Padre Felipo 
replied : 

"I do not fear t\\Qvomito; nor have I had it." 

"That is well then," the Cure told him, pleased that 
the brilliant eyes looked into his so fearlessly. 

He was a lonely man, and doubly so since the Eng- 
lish had come to crush out the bright life of the French, 
and he rejoiced that Padre Felipo would abide with him. 
For the latter — he was but a child to the Cure — had, it 
was evident, that which endears one to hearts worn out 
by conflicts with the world — strong, rich blood bounding 
in his veins, ^nd a bold courage ready to meet all danger. 
Besides he was beautiful as those boy-hermits of the East 
who had gone forth from crowded cities to the wilder- 
ness to pray and fight the devil. 

"Sit here, my son," the Cure urged, pointing to a 
chair near him, suddenly mindful that Padre Felipo had 
remained standing since he came an hour ago and noting 
the lines of weariness in his face. 

Glad to ease his limbs Padre Felipo sank in the 
huge chair. A great languor was on him, and he leaned 
his head back, closing his broad, long-lashed eyes like 
one to whom the peace of the place was exquisite. He 



SELECTIONS. 95 

had journeyed far that day and many preceding ones, 
and the big square room of the little wooden house where 
the priest stuHed and worked was as blissful verdure in 
the desert to him. Several moments passed, but he did 
not open his eyes or speak; and Monsieur le Cure, seeing 
that he slept, turned to a cumbrous table and began to 
write letters home to France, also to the Vicar General. 
His packet would go in the ship which sailed the next 
morning at daybreak, but a coureicr de bois, whom he 
knew well, had promised to take a letter to Monseigneiir 
when he journeyed thence. In all of them the Cure told 
of the Spanish priest Heaven had sent to solace him in 
this time of plague and sorrow. 

Two hours passed during which Padre Felipo slept on 
and the old man wrote; and as he wrote the tears came in 
his eyes for longing to see those of his own blood who 
dwelt apart from him. Pure as he was and above the 
loves of earth he knew tfeat never, until the dear Christ 
should receive him in Paradise, would he behold any 
who had been with him in childhood. Therefore his 
sight grew dim and his heart ached, though his soul was 
in the life he led in this wild land, given over now to a 
alien people to whom the Blessed Mother was no more 
than an ima'^e — a picture on the wall. Yet God was good 
to send this stranger who had a leonine daring in his 
features. So he wrote in praise as if in atonement for 
the doubt that seized upon him when Padre Felipo 
entered his door, saying that he had been directed there 
by a soldier at the Fort who gave a surety of welcome. 

The heat lessened as the glare of the spent day surged 
into grayish shadows. The air was cool with the breeze 
that blew up from the Gulf and caught on its way the 
scent of the piiiierres over which it swept. 

Monsieur le Cure finished writing and went to vespers 
in the church near the parochial residence.' He did not 
awaken Padre I'elipo; it seemed to his tender thought 
that the inert figure and bare, bruised feet were too 
weary even to traverse the short distance to the chapel. 
But, despite his consideration, he sighed and murmured 



96 SELECTIONS. 

a prayer for his weakness in letting the young priest 
sleep on. 

He was absent longer than was his wont, as many 
people drew about him after the service was done — they 
had so much to tell him of their joys, and woes, and fears. 
And the coureur de bois, meeting him, had to have a word 
of sound counsel, since he was prone to fall to wrangling 
and thought nothing more of a fight than he did of a 
day's hunt. 

Finally it was over, and Monsieur le Cure went 
home, where he found Padre Felipo still asleep. 

Remi, the old man who had long served him, met 
him at the threshold with more than usual anger in his 
sour, shriveled visage. A lighted candle was in his hand, 
which he held so that its flame fell upon their guest. 

" Ouais, nion pere, how comes this stranger here who 
sleeps like he was dead? Though he be consecrated by 
Mother Church, I put no faith in him." 

"Remi, thou hadst ever a tongue bitter as those 
oranges I thought so long were sweet," Monsieur le 
Cure answered with a smile, curling his fine calm lips. 
"And like the fruit," he continued, " thou art good only 
when fire has been applied to thee." 

" What dost thou mean ?" Remi asked, puckering 
his leathery face so that it looked as if carved from a 
walnut. 

"This — put the fruit in boiling sugar and it is a sweet- 
meat fit for a king; and put thee in the heat of trouble 
and thou comest out — sharp and bitter still, but so true, 
so steadfast a king might seek thy friendship." 

"'Chut,''' Remi exclaimed in pretended anger. "Arouse 
him. Thy supper is cooling, and thou hast hungered 
since morning; for thy breakfast was given to an old 
Indian." 

" Awake, my son, our evening meal awaits us," Mon- 
sieur le Cure called as he laid his hand on Padre Felipo's 
shoulder. 

A slight movement and a long sigh, an upward 
gesture of the lithe sinewy arms and the heavily fringed 



SELECTIONS. 97 

lids lifted from the broad eyes, and Padre Felipo was 
awake. 

Springing up he glanced about him beyond the light 
of Remi's candle into the shadows like one who had 
good cause to dread the night. But as the drowsiness 
cleared from his brain he said, with a smile of infinite 
sweetness : 

" The Indians have made me fearful." 

"They would make the evil one himself quake," Remi 
declared. 

" Remi, set a flask of wine out, for Padre Felipo is 
overcome and needs his strength restored." 

"Yes, Monsieur le Cure," Remi assented. Yet he went 
off, muttering: " Wine, my master serves this wayfarer 
better than he does himself, since not a drop does he 
ever taste, though he needs it much at times. Such fine, 
rich wine, too, and cordials as we have — and all given to 
any ailing Indian or rascal of a soldier who tells a tale of 
fatigue. Bah !" 

While Remi was gone the priest bade Padre Felipo 
go in the next room where he could wash the dust from 
his face and hands, and poor bruised feet. When he had 
finished they were bidden to supper, which Remi placed 
upon the heavy table where the master had written his 
letters. 

There were crabs made in a savory soup with onions 
and garlic and powdered sassafras leaves, the last a trick 
of flavoring caught from the Indians, and little twisted 
loaves of white bread from the Royal Bakery ; then 
there was the flask of wine, rubescent and strong enough 
to send the laggard blood hurrying from heart to brain ; 
and for desert, pink-fleshed figs as sweet as honey. 

They talked but little while they ate, for Padre Felipo 
was nearly famished and the Cure was busy thinking of 
the work he had to do that night among the sick. For 
him, he only ^te a few figs and a bit of bread and drank 
a cup of water cooled in huge jars that were left to cool 
in the shade. Remi sat at table with them, and being 



98 SELECTIONS, 

fond of the soup he had prepared he ate a quantity of 
it and drank wine enough to dull his wits. 

After they had eaten and the color was warm in 
Padre Felipo's lips the Cure went to the church with 
him, where he left him and went on his way among his 
parishioners to pray and watch with them 

Dipping his hand in the holy water Padre Felipo 
crossed himself, then walked slowly to the altar on which 
the gold and silver shone in the moonlight flowing 
through an open window. The great brazen crucifix 
glittered as though it were day, and the marble Mother 
and Child gleamed with the softness of pearl in the trans- 
muting radiance. Over it ail rose the sweetest incense 
earth can give to Heaven — the odor of snowy oleanders 
and jasmine some maiden had heaped at the Virgin's feet. 
He knelt, and looking on the awful agony of the cross a 
shudder passed through him and his eye sgrew moist ; over 
his face swept a look of such worshiping love as made it 
sweet with ineffable tenderness. Bending his head he told 
his bead- and wept until the hot salt tears fell upon his 
dark slender hands. He was very young ; and the griefs 
of his soul brought forth the tears, ever quick to spring 
at his age. As he prayed tranquility came to his heart and 
his weeping ceased, though he knelt on and on while 
about him the white light streamed; then grew dim 
and dimmer as the night waned. At last it ebbed away 
and a thick darkness filled the chapel. 



Each day he went through the burning sun that fed 
the greedy pestilence like fuel feeds a fire, and tended 
those who were ill. Held to their cracked lips the hot 
drink made from orange leaves, which brought ease and 
blessed iTioisture to the racked limbs ; he sat in the 
stifling rooms listening to the babble of delirium until his 
lungs were choked ; He bent over the yellow corpses that 
reeked with black vomit and made them clean for burial 
— all with humble gentleness that made the Cure's heart 
rejoice. Even Remi overcame his prejudice and acknowl- 



SELECTIONS. 99 

edged the patience that touched sublimity. But never 
once did Padre Felipo hear confession or administer the 
last rites, saying he was not fit. 

Monsieur le Cure thought it strange, though he let 
him have his way; for he knew how in many a soul there 
often abode reason for secret expiation for some sin, 
however slight. He was sure that in good time the bov 
— as he fondly called him — would seek the amelioration 
of the confessional. So being wise, the old priest said 
nothing and waited, but he wished many times for relief 
in the church. 

One midday when the sky was gray as if its blue 
had been eaten out by the awful heat, and not even the 
faintest puff of breeze stole from the Bay the Cure had 
an urgent summons to a dying fisherman, who lived far 
below the Settlement. Before he went he sought Padre 
Felipo, who sat on his bed of Pine straw and skins more 
worn than on the day he came. For he had breathed in 
the poison of the plague until it filled his veins, and even 
now a fever was scorching him. 

" Brother," the old man said with his wise calm eyes 
fixed on the haggard features before him, " I am called 
to a dying creature who lives far from here. I may not 
return until to-morrow, so thou must go to the church in 
my place this evening. Should any soul be passing in 
Mobile give it — " 

He never finished, for Padre Felipo rose up, crying 
with horror in his voice : 

" No, no. Father, I am not fit. I have told thee that 
ever since I came." 

The serenity of the Cure was broken by such surprise 
that he could only stammer : 

"Not fit, not fit? Thou who hast been a very saint 
among my people." 

A long pause, in which Padre Felipo looked through 
an open window at a distant stretch of ground covered 
with rank coffee-weeds, then beyond to the dense pine-trees 
brushing against the low sultry clouds. His restless gaze 
swept back and strayed to a myrtle, whose crinkled pink 



lOO SELECTIONS. 

blossoms seemed curling more closely in the heavy air. 
An overipe fig dropped to the earth from the tree before 
him. The rustling of the foliage as it fell roused him 
and he slowly said : 

" Was there ever a saint who lied ?" 

" What dost thou mean ? Speak my son." The Cure 
urged with quivering mouth. '" But come," he entreated; 
holding out his hand to Padre Felipo. 

" To the confessional? No ; it would be sin to tell 
thee there what I have done." 

Outside Remi called that the man who had come for 
Monsieur le Cure was in great haste — he feared a storm, 
and storms on the Bay were dangerous. 

Padre Felipo flung himself on his knees before the 
Cure and bent down until his face was hidden. Stooping 
over him the old man laid his wrinkled hand on the black 
curls, thick and soft as astrakhan. 

Again Remi called. 

" Father," Padre Felipo's breath came in gasps as he 
leaned more heavily against the priest, " I have lied. I 
was never in Texas — I am from New Orleans. I — I — 
am no priest." 

" No priest? What is the meaning of thy act?" the 
Cure asked, thinking how he had doubted Padre Felipo 
the day he came. But he kept his hand on the clustering 
hair. No matter what the sin he — God's servant — had 
no right to judge. 

"My son — " 

Remi entered the room followed by the fisherman's 
brother, a sullen black-browed creature, who said it was 
high time they were off as he had no mind to be on the 
Bay in a storm. The Cure was compelled to go. Bid- 
ding Padre Felipo adieu he set out with many misgivings, 
since he thought the living had greater need of him than 
the one to whom he went. 



He did not return until late the next night. When 
he entered his house Remi met him with all the sour 
look gone out of his shriveled face on which there was a 



SELECTIONS. lOI 

deep solemnity. The place was oppressively still, and 
on the table lay Padre Felipo's rosary. The clumsy door 
between the big front room and the small one back of it 
was closed. 

"How many have died since yesterday?" the Cure 
asked, sitting down in his huge chair. 

For a moment Remi hesitated, then answered in a 
hushed tone : 

"There has been but one." 

"Old Baptiste Valcour; was it not?" 

"Baptiste is doing well, and yesterday asked for an 
onion, which was given him. He began to grow strong 
the moment he ate it." 

"Who then is dead ?" 

"Padre Felipo." 

"Padre Felipo? He was well but yesterday." 

"Not so. Even then the fever was on him, and he 
said he had ailed for days. This morning early the black 
blood came up from his stomach, and he died at noon." 

"Remi spoke like a man who held something back, 
which he dreaded to tell. 

Seeing this the Cure asked : 

"Did he leave no word for me ?" 

"He knew nothing. The fever gripped his brain so 
that he had no sense, but — " 

For the first time in his life the priest looked sternly 
at his servant. 

"Thy own sense has left thee, Remi. Tell me quick 
whatever thou knowest." 

"My good master," Remi laid his hand on the Cure's, 
"I made Padre Felipo sweet and clean for his grave; as I 
knew thou wouldst have me do: on his bared shoulder I 
saw XhQ fleiir de lis — the mark of a slave." 

Without a word the Cure went in where the dead lay 
with candles burning at his head and feet, and knelt 
beside him. 



102 SELECTIONS. 

Remi crossed himself saying a prayer for the departed 
soul; then he passed out in the breathless night, where 
the loathsome bats flew and a little gray bird sang its 
divine melody. 

Anne Bozeman Lyon, 

Author of " No Saint." "The Early Missions of The South," &c. 



SELLIN' OLE MASTER. 



All Birmingham's suburbs were filled with rolling of 
drums and ringing of fifes. Negroes are negroes where- 
ever you put them, fond of gay color, frantic over 
noise; and here in touch of a bustling city they were as 
mad over a 9th of April "turn-out" as ever they were 
when they were laborers on the Black Belt plantations. 
They held to the same programme that had done service 
for more than thirty years; a procession of s'cieties, 
picnic dinners, queerest of orations, one marshal (mounted 
on a horse fretted with girded martingales and pricking 
spurs) to every "hund'ard head er marchers." 

No two people in all the crowded shabby tenement 
rows felt more excited over the day's preparations than 
old Umber and his wife Mimy. First they had to get 
out of their everyday garments and into their ' Benevo- 
lent" paraphernalia. The women of the " Malevolents," 
as Aunt Mimy persisted in calling her beloved order, 
dressed in red and orange calico; the men in blue' and 
orange. 

The hardest matter of all was for Uncle Umber to 
lodge his three-cornered red hat with a yellow cock's-tail 
on his well combed, well greased wool. 

Mimy had a well filled lunch basket, a regular old 
hand-made plantation white oak split basket, brought up 
from the River place when the old couple moved up to 
North Alabama, This basket was lodged between hip 
and elbow to leave a hand free for bearing the banner of 



SELECTIONS. IO3 

the s'ciety, given to the one who had paid most " jues." 

Umber was to come out of the one room, designated 
"house," last to lock the door and put the key into a 
pocket difficult to find in that suit of brave colors. This 
he had done as he thought satisfactorily, when Mirny 
whispered ominously : 

" Ole man." 

'■ Ole 'oman ?" hoarsely breathed Umber. 

" Did you look at de sock ?" 

" Naw." 

" Go back an' look. I couldn't swing dat flag, let 
'lone I couldn' step ter dat drum to-day lessen I knowed 
dat sock wus safe 'fo' I goed." 

" You know hit's safe," grumbled Umber, whose gay 
rig made him uncomfortable enough since it fitted him 
no better than its colors fitted each other, and who was 
anxious to be off to the show to forget in nosie and 
bustle his discomfort. Nevertheless, back he went and 
looked. 

The sock and the savings were safe. Off marched 
the old people for a day of dust and heat and sweat and 
song and noise and speech and hurrah and childish glee. 

It was at sun-setting that Umber and Mimy, with 
faces turned homeward, stopped suddenly and with one 
accord before the junk shop on Twenty-second street. 

"Ole man? questioned Mimy in tones keen with 
surprise. 

" Ole 'oman !" cried Umber. 

" Hit's him, ole man," declared Mimy. " Ef marster 
had stood up and flung a colored shadder of hisse'f 'ginst 
a wall, hit couldn't be no mo' like him dan dat is." 

" Hit's his spi't an' image." 

" Hit's de ve'y blush of him." 

" Dar's his finger ring!" 

"Watch chain, too. An' dem charmin' things 
hangin' on it, key, leetle banjo, 'gater-toof, an' all." 

" Dat is de truf !" 

While the two old negroes stood entranced before 
the picture against the shop door, an auctioneer's flag 



I04 SELECTIONS. 

was hung out in front of the shop and a crowd began to 
collect about the glib-tongued auctioneer, who stood on 
the threshold crying out the estimable qualities of the 
old furniture handed to him or rolled in sight of the 
crowd by his two assistants in cardigan jackets. A very 
young man in a tall beaver hat was taking down the 
names of purchasers and prices at which articles were 
bid off. 

The two negroes recognized most of those pieces of 
old-time china or heavy mahogany at the sale. Some 
keen eyed dealer had perhaps bought out the contents 
of some old plantation mansion and was selling now to 
these bidders what pieces could not be disposed of to 
more artistic buyers. 

To Mimy and Umber that one great oil painting 
leaning against the door-facing, seemed to grow more 
and more human. They knew old master had lain in his 
grave nearly thirty years, but at this moment it seemed 
to them that he was alive and looking with grieved eyes, 
at the sale of the goodly dishes that had so often graced 
his own most hospitable board. 

The old husband and wife heaved many a heavy 
sigh as they saw the familiar articles go into strangers' 
hands. The lot was almost disposed of when two men 
in tight jackets swung round the great picture in its heavy 
gilt frame. 

" What do I get for this ? What do I get for this ?" 
called the auctioneer. " Fine representation of old time 
southern planter. Good for old family portrait, or good 
for fancy sketch. Cover one whole side of ordinary sized 
room. What am I offered ? Real oil painting. Frame 
alone worth twenty dollars if it is worth a cent. What 
am I offered ? Have I a five ?" 

" Fifty cents," bid a red-faced wag. 

"Save my soul," cried Mimy. 

" Sake er heaven," cried Umber. 

" Ole man ?" queried Mimy. 

" Ole 'oman ?" questioned Umber, in deepest per- 
plexity. 



SELECTIONS. IO5 

'' Dee are sellin' ole master !" 

"Oh. my soul," groaned Umber, "I thought dis 
blessed Free-day put end ter sellin' niggers, but what sort 
er times is dese ! Ole master on de block !" 

" Hit can't be did," asserted Mimy. 

" Hit's bein' did," declared Umber. 

For since the loud guffaw at the bid of fifty cents, the 
bid had crept up to six dollars and seventy five cents. 

" A saloon keeper was ahead : 

"It'll pay me something," he had said, "Old 
Southern Planter Saloon, eh ?" 

Umber had heard him. He knew well enough what 
that meant, and the thought of that quiet dignity, those 
great kind brown eyes looking down on the crowd in that 
low place made the old servant's heart almost crack 
with grief. 

" Ole man, bid !" urged Mimy, who was always 
quicker in thought than he. 

" Bid ?" queried Umber, thoroughly dazed and look- 
ing pitiful enough with his decrepit old body clad in its 
gaudy colors and two great drops of sorrow on his 
wrinkled brown cheeks. 

" Holler seben dollar !" whispered Mimy, poking 
him in the ribs. 

" Whar I gwine git seben dollar?" 

Poor Umber was sorely puzzled. 

"Sock," said Mimy decisively. 

There was a sort of movement among the auctioneer's 
assistants, the boy in the beaver was about to jot down 
the name of the saloon keeper as purchaser^of the picture, 
when the old woman's voice rang out clear and loud : 

" Seben dollar, two bits." 

There was quite a stir in the crowd at this, but the 
auctioneer intent only on business and a per cent of the 
proceeds, began : 

" Seven and a quarter! Seven and a quarter! A 
quarter, I have ! Have I a half ? Have I a half? No, 
quarter ? Give me a half, a half, a half !" 



I06 SELECTIONS. 

With more excitement the bidding proceeded until 
Umber nudged his excited wife to whisper warningly : 

" Sock's nigh empty." 

For though that repository of savings was safe in its 
hiding place at home, both knew to a cent its contents. 

" Week's wages on de washin'," whispered Mimy. 

When the bids reached twenty-seven dollars and 
some cents the saloon man became wearied and worried 
out. He began to fancy the " Jolly Boy" suited his 
concern and custom better anyhow, and a chromo with 
lots of color would look just as well to the besotted eyes 
in his place as this delicate work in oil; so he twirled on 
his heel and the field was left to old Mimy. While old 
Umber stood guard over it Mimy went home for the sock. 

It was in the " booming " days of Birmingham, when 
fortunes were made in a week and lost in an hour, when 
habits of reckless expenditure, dissipation and specula- 
tion were formed which a lifetime could hardly live down- 
A young real estate agent, just married and sorely tempted 
to tread every way that led to luxury, was at late dusk 
walking with an acquaintance down one of the streets of 
Birmingham's suburbs. The acquaintance was laying a 
very fascinating scheme before the agent. With the least bit 
of chicanery quite a pretty fortune could be made. It was 
a tempting bait and the young man was taking the plan 
into very serious consideration as the two walked together 
down the shabby new lane of scrappy tenement rows. 

Things had gone badly with the two old negroes. The 
sock once emptied seemed fated never to be refilled. A 
month's illness, the unfortunate scorching of a batch of 
fine shirts sent to be laundered, the mounting dues of the 
" Benevolents," with many other adverse matters, had 
brought the old people to direst poverty. 

The young negroes in the surrounding tenement 
rooms found nothing more diverting than the great pic- 
ture of the old master in the little one room cabin. 

" Do he feed yer? " 

" Do he pay board ? " 

" How long yer gwine ter have comp'ny?" 



SELECTIONS. IO7 

" Who yer b'long to ? " 

" Keep yer master's eye on yer," 

These were exclamations constantly launched at the 
old couple. 

They were sensitive to all this. Hints of past servi- 
tude from their own race are never welcome to 
ex-slaves. 

Yet amid all the jeering Aunt Mimy always declared 
to Umber that it was "precious comfort fer ter know 
ole master wasn't lookin' down on dem drinking 
rowdies down ter Machbeck's saloon." 

It was the 9th of April again, but the old people had 
only looked on at the march this time, first because 
Umber's rheumatism was too sharp to permit him to 
step to the music of fife and drum, next because they 
had no goodly lunch basket, again no banner to carry, for 
their contributions came far down in the list of "jues," 
also their hearts were heavy with their hopeless poverty. 

They were talking in the cool of the afternoon as they 
sat by their little moldering pieces of coke gathered up 
by Aunt Mimy's still shiftful hands. They talked of the 
bit of land somewhere about this region that old master 
had bought to make a vineyard. They called to remem- 
brance how old mistress had talked in her life-time 
of putting Umber to tend the place because of his 
experience in grape growing way back in old Virginia. 
How at last the place had dwindled to an acre or 
more on account of frequent sales from it. How old 
mistress had deeded that to Umber and Mimy, for 
faithful service. This had brought the old people up 
from South Alabama. Aunt Mimy still kept a paper 
browned by age, a deed to this bit of land given 
after the war to the old people by the old mistress 
herself just before her death. They said now to each 
other if they could just find that land they might with 
their own hands put up a shanty and be free of that 
dreadful grinding rent. 

Windows and doors were wide open as they had kept 
them iu their old plantation cabin and as the cool April 



I08 SELECTIONS. 

breezes blew in, they drew near to their narrow, ungen- 
erous little grate, and thought up uncouth fairy stories of 
happy things that might come into their pinched lives. 

Young Archie Kilfex walked on and talked over the 
pros and cons of the land deal with his tempter. "All 
this," said the young man, waving one hand over the 
street and laying the other on Archie's shoulder, " All 
this can be ours if you advance just half that amount of 
money and keep quiet." 

" But the heirs are some where, what a cheat to them," 
objected Archie, but in his heart he was yielding, he was 
about to take that first step out of the path of perfect 
honor. 

" Don't be squeamish," began his would-be partner 
in the scheme, but Archie had stopped short in the 
shabby lane like a man suddenly confronted with some 
spirit from the land of the departed. 

" What ails you ? " cried his companion. 

" I tell you I can't do it. Say no more about it to 
me. I won't do it," declared Archie. 

His words were decided enough and the tones were 
those of a man awake to his resolution, but his eyes were 
fixed as if some spirit sight held them. 

Was it a miracle wrought in this matter-of-fact cen- 
tury, a miracle to save him, the inheritor of an honest 
name, from any faintest smirch of dishonor? 

Was it a miracle that let him look as he had not 
looked since he was a little child, into the honest depths 
of his father's eyes ? 

Had that kindly encouraging smile shaped itself into 
the very heavens to lure him to highest good, to uphold 
him to resistance of every temptation ? 

" What ails you, man ?" asked his companion again. 

Archie cared not to speak of the miracle vouchsafed 
him in his hour of need, only he could not take his eyes 
from his father's face, 

" Well, I don't wonder!" following Archie's gaze. 
"An oil painting and a fine one if this light does'nt 
deceive me, and in a negro shanty ! " 



SELECTIONS. IO9 

" Let's go in," suggested the young man. Once in 
the cabin the story of the picture was soon told. The 
old people repeated the fairy tales they had been relating 
to each other, and showed the yellow deed. 

Archie looked at the young man : " I was saved," 
he said, "as by a miracle, from soiling my own honesty 
and demolishing my own mother's generosity to her most 
faithful servitors." 

It was but a moment before the old people, — ready 
for relief in any blessing, on their beloved Emancipation 
Day, for freedom is sweet be the master ever so kind, — 
were full of rejoicing over the finding of master's son 
and their own fortune. 

" I will redeem the ten acres for you, it shall be 
yours," declared Archie : "this very house you live in, 
these other shanties, all this hill-slope will be yours, — and 
the picture ? " 

Archie looked up at the handsome, kindly face. It 
was the only bit of his home life he had seen or known 
since he had been adrift in the world these thirty years. 

" This picture — ?" 

" Hit's yourn, Marse Archie! Hit's yourn," hastily 
interpolated old Umber. 

" Us buyed it des fer you." Mimy insisted unctu- 
ously, regardless of the spirit of truth ; " it's precious 
comfort, too, ter know it haint hanging ober ter Mach- 
beck's place, dough he did bid pretty steady at — at — at — 
de — sale. Martha Young, 

in The Chatauqiian. 



(From The Southern Magazine, Louisville, Ky.) 

THE BEAST THAT BOUGHT ME. 



And you would have me put posterity to blush with 
recount o' my roguery? Since you will, here's to your 
patient hearing, but should you ever need like cunning, 
your wits may serve you better than my example; men 
have no time for recollection when circumstances press. 



I lO SELECTIONS. 

You know how the Irish rebels trampled the tail o' 
the old century. Shame, sir, but methinksthe Christians 
had not been such heathens since bloody Bartholomew ! 
I'd 'ave died for my father that was piked and tossed in 
a gravel pit to rot; I'd 'ave died for my mother that they 
bound and burned in her bed; but when it came to dying 
for a king that I hadn't the honor to know, and a God 
that had turned his back — well, my sentiment all took 
to my heels in those days, so I gave my country the 
chance to live without me and little I brought away save 
the love o' a laugh and the musical roll o' my tongue; 

You know the whys, I'll spare my breath oixh.^ hoivs. 
The hay-loft o' an Ennisco' thy rebel sheltered the first 
night o' my orphanage and I was that sick o' trouble 
that had not my brain been drunk with sleep, I'd 'ave 
dreamed o' the time when the sky swapped compliments 
with the bloom o' my new-mown bed. As 'twas, when 
the clanking o' chains smote my carnage tuned ear, I 
started, to see through the open gable and the sharp disk 
o' the sun cut the blood stained horizon and cleanly rise 
— a soul set free from bodily decay! 

"Come, come," said a man in the stable below; "quit 
ye yawning and yoke the bulls while I whisk the pony to 
the cart ! We've no time to lose to-day !" 

"There's no need o' a hurry fayther," yawned the 
sleepy lout, "They'll no' do their own like harm." 

"Och, don't be arguing," stormed the man. Little 
it recks an they be left to bray o' accidents when we're 
turned crackling; gear up, I say. By the saints, I've a 
mind to view the fire t'other side o' the Slaney." 

"And you'll have the company o' your betters 'cross 
the ford," resolved I, through the chink, "profit you as it 
may ! "Ay, sir, they did too, for when they turned to 
fetch the women for the flight, I swung from my place in 
the loft aud crept 'neath the awning o' the plunder filled 
wagon, and not only disposed o' my whip-tailed body to 
advantage, but breakfasted from a box o' victuals near 
by. Sure, and 'twas stuffy quarters for a fair June day, 
but I thanked the Providence that had left m to the ox 



SELECTIONS. I 1 1 

and the boy instead o' wiser heads, and as the waters o' 
the river trickled cool from the wheels, I turned the 
waters o' hope a sizzling on my throttle and closed my 
eyes to hide the narrow view. 

We were '^ome miles on the road to Wexford when 
the cart came to a stand and the boy called the man 
ahead : 

" Hist, fay t her, hist ! Be spooks abroad by light o' 
day ?" 

" An they were," answered the man, "they'd step 
aside for fools. What be ye after now ?" 

"Sure, fayther," whined the lad, "but I've heard 
strange noises these three times and when I look I see 
not man, ner beast, ner any living thing." 

"Och, Dennis, don't be after scolding the child," 
pleaded his mother; "mayhaps the spirit o' old friends are 
with us even now!" 

And though I could not see, I knew they bowed and 
crossed themstlves for the repose o' fleeing souls. Fact 
was, I had grown as dry as Ishmael with the day and 
came near being betrayed through fits o' coughing, so I 
made convenience o' the first green hedge to wink good- 
bye to such dry company. 

As I raised my head from the waters o' a meadow 
ditch, the coppery smoke that dimmed the western sky 
was the last I ever saw o' Ennisco'thy ! 

I lied my way to Wexford. And do you start ? I 
knew no code o' ethics then, and for truth, 'twas some- 
what satisfactory to use the devil's fire to light my pipe 
(an you understand such profanity). Had I not lied, I 
had not lived to cuddle on the old sea wall that soft 
June night. 

To long accustomed eyes my dusty figure seemed a 
patch o' pewits in the gloaming, and I lay upon my back 
that calm 'o night might sink into my breast. The moon- 
light shown upon the bay like the golden ripples o' a 
woman's head upon her pillow, and the little waves, all 
lover like, toyed with the loose-blown strands. A wretch 
benumbed, I gazed across the water for a sail, much as a 



112 SELECTIONS. 

man counts sheep o'er fence to bring him sleep. Ere 
long, I saw just faintly fan the bay what seemed to me 
the beckoning wing o' the dove o' peace ! You've 
guessed, I see. 'Twas a trader making straight for 
Wexford docks and my own heart thumped me off the 
wall to meet her. Like a hated toad, I leapt from one 
dark shadow to another afraid to break the light nap o' 
a dog. 'Twas to wakes and the gruesome tales o' war 
that I owed my secret stowing, for I tell you, land legs 
are clumsy things when it comes to scaling the tarry side 
o' a ship with the help o' a greasy rope. Sure, and I 
must have ta'en all that trouble to find the hold that I 
might have a quiet place for thinking how to get out 
again. What with the stifling and pleading o' my stomach 
to my head. I made a bold break for deck next day, past 
the jeers and the tar daubs o' the sailors, to fall exhausted 
at the captain's feet. Shame, but his heart was all out o' 
proportion with his other vitals, for he'd grudge a dog 
a bone while scratching his nose with his vest buttons ; 
and though his career had been as checkered as his face, 
he'd no more sympathy with misfortune than the old sow 
has with the pigs she eats. 

It may be that I rudely disturbed his sun-mixed med- 
itation, for though he eyed me calmly he raised his 
pudding foot as if to give me to the sea. Right here a 
light shone in his eye like a far off star behind a mist and 
methought a kindly spark had risen from the deep stirred 
ashes o' his heart ; by and by, you'll know what 'twas 
that lit his eye. As he regained his stand he spat upon 
the floor and viewed me from the corner o' his eye. 

" And you've left the rotten ship to gnaw into the 
granaries o' others, you dirty rat! snarled he. " I've a 
mind to add another to Davy Jones' locker. Get to the 
galley and find a task at platter washing, you whining 
wench ! " 

Faith, 'twas for my stomach's sake that I did this 
bidding with a mighty zest. But I soon found friends in 
the forecastle. Let me tell yon here, all sailor's hearts 
are not so sea seared as their faces. Those wild rude 



SELECTIONS. II3 

melodies that woke the midnight sea are flowers that 
bloom above the dead leaves o' the past ! 

* -x- -X- -X- -X- * 

With touching here and there 'twas autumn before 
we reached America. 

The distant woods along the Delaware shone like a 
bright Mosaic wedge 'twixt earth and sky; the sweet 
mouthed forest sang o'liberty, the waters caught the tune 
o' freedom's hymn and rolled a mighty anthem to the sea ! 
The sun rose on us in the Philadelphia docks. All that 
bright morn I tingled with the frost and madly danced, a 
human puppet pulled by nature's string. As I kicked 
my cap to my head and spun fore on my bare heel, I 
beheld a high hatted, solemn visaged gentleman eyeing 
me with pity for my wickedness and admiration for my 
misdirected muscle. 

■ "A fine lad," said he solemnly to the captain, "an 
his head keeps not«pace with his heels." 

" I warrant no Irish brat," was the grudgeful reply. 
** The old Isle is that sick at her stomach she pukes 'em up 
by the hundreds. He boarded me, his pockets as empty as 
his belly, but leave me to teach him the ropes! " and he 
chuckled o'er his cruel might. I know not what unseen 
intercessor moved the man to wish aloud that he had 
such a lad about the farm. 

"An yer'U pay his passage, yer' welcome to him," 
said the captain with a greedy grunt. " He has no lug- 
gage wherewith to trouble yer." 

" For truth ? " said the man delightedly. " Nay, but 
I have not the ready money to spare ; but," said he, hesi- 
tating for the propriety, " dost see the young ass tied to 
the rack at the turn o' the river's bank ? I brought it to 
market to-day, but thee'st as leave, I'll give it thee for 
the boy and be off with him." 

" Hurnph ! " said the captain, balancing the trade in 
his mind, '' tis but fair that one ass goeth for another. 
Come, let's see which be the better beast o' the two." 



114 SELECTIONS. 

And with that, I was tossed in one side o' the 

cradle o' Hberty, and out t'tother without so much as the 

liberty o' a good bye to the boys ! 

•K- * * * * * 

Have you ever watched the day a-giving old Radnor 
to the night ? 'Tis as a mother wraps her loved one in 
bright folds and lays it in the dusky arms o' the nurse ! 

As we jogged down the stone-hedged lane and drew up 
at the barn, the smell o the pumpkins and the pigs in 
the pen were that home-like, that I cried aloud to my 
spirit that was winging its way back over the sea. 

The Dutch lay mighty stress upon their barns as well 
you know, and as I husked the corn for the cow's evening 
meal, 1 wondered if the horn of plenty had not upset in 
the racks ; and, as later on, I washed my face in the tin 
basin on the back porch and polished myself with the 
towel that rolled above, the incense from supper a-cook- 
ing in the kitchen would have turned the head o' the 
Pope on a fast day ! Strange, I recall not at all the taste 
o' it. Embarrassment often af^icts the tongue while leav- 
ing the nostrils free. 

I was not pressed into domestic service the first 
night, but quietly left in the dining-room tor the collec- 
tion o' my wits. My bare feet dangled from the chimney- 
seat and 1 twirled my cap for diversion. Opposite sat 
Harry, grinning fellowship and spoiling figures on his 
slate, while blue-eyed Mary, trim and saintly, sat in her 
little chair just in front o' the fire. Of a sudden she 
ceased thumbing her brand new primer and gazed com- 
pasionately upon me. 

" How old art thee, Timothy Tooke ? " asked she, 
most gravely. 

" My mother put fourteen plums in my last birthday 
pudding, one for each year," said I. 

"Then," said Harry, "thee art mine own age, and 
Mary is just seven, which makes her half as old." 

" Methinks she has greatly the advantage o' us," 
said I, "for when we are one hundred and ready to drop 
into the grave, she'll be but the comfortable age o' fifty." 



SELECTIONS. I I S 

Whereat Master Harry laughed so loudly and so unman- 
nerly criticised my arithmetic that his mother stuck her 
head in the door for reproval. 

"Canst thee not read?" asked Mary sorrowfully. 

"Nay, little lady," said I, "but had I your bro_ther's 
chance he could not boast above me !" 

"Thee shall have it !" cried she. "Thee shall learn 
from my new book ! 'Tis a good book 'cause it came 
across the mighty sea." 

"I'm glad you have a good opinion o' things that 
cross the sea," said I. "I came that way myself." 

Placing her slim white finger on the big red letter at 
the top o' the page she said ; "Now this is A, and surely 
thee must know this animal it stands for just across." 

"Begorrah !" said I, "and 'tis none other than the 
beast that bought me !" 

With this, Master Harry must roll off his seat and 
under the table in fits o' laughter which goes to prove 
that Quakers are not born but made. For ungodly 
conduct, we were ordered to bed, he and Mary to their 
rooms upstairs, and I to the little room on stilts above 
the springhouse. 

The early morning, my master, Thomas Hacker by 
name, came to instruct me in my daily tasks, and here 
comes the epilogue. 

"Timothy Tooke, I would have thee understand thy 
station. I took thee part for need but much for mercy 
from thine owner, for 'tis not in my religion to hold a 
slave. When thou hast earned thy passage, which I paid, 
if thee lik'st us not thou art free to go thy way." 

Tears o' gratitude flushed my eyes and eloquence 
tickled my tongue. 

"O, good sir, I swear " began I, but my sentence 

remains unfinished to this day. With stern disapproba- 
tion full upon me, he said, "Let thy converse be yea and 
nay !" and stalked majestically away. 

Should you ever be called upon to make a Quaker, 
pray use something else but an Irishman for a lining. 
Why, at the bare hint o' an adventure I was for turning 



Il6 SELECTIONS. 

myself inside out, much to the misery o' my master. 
And for the life o' me I could not help strolling past the 
cross roads meeting-house to old St. David's, where I 
could lie on the wall in the shade o' the trees and enjoy 
the scraps o' sermon that floated through the open 
window as I slapped at the flies with my cap. And 
though I was suspected o' leading Hal astray the day we 
ran away to play Paoli with the boys, his generosity 
proved my innocence and peace reigned paramount once 
more. 

Have you ever felt impelled to join something? 
Faith, it comes in the life o' every man and methinks 'tis 
but the honest craving for fellowship. It seems to me 
that the very trees were banded together in defense o' 
the land they loved, and so when I would have enrolled 
in the militia and my master forbade, I fretted as any 
restless steed beneath the bit. Still, for the sake o' 
others, I followed the plow o' peace and turned many a 
Latin sonnet as I turned the perfumed furrow, for I'd 
been no sluggard in the winter schools. 

Had it not been for the burial o' Wayne my life 
might have been as the ebb and flow o' a sluggish sea ! 
'Twas a brave hand that brought that bag o' bones o'er 
the mountains, and the events o' the day, which threatened 
to raise St. David's dead, would havesiirred a duller soul 
than mine. 'Twas then the spirit's true patriotism smote 
me and I joined the county militia, regardless! — rand, 
much as one goose follows another, what should that 
fond Hal do, spite o' remonstrance, but enlist just after 
me ! Can't you hear the splash o' the boulder o' distrust 
as it dropped in the stream o' affection that flowed 'twixt 
me and my master? Ever after he regarded me much as 
Idid the devilish old bell-wether that would let down the 

fence to the rest o' the flock. 

* * * -;f * * 

You'll not criticise my looking away? I've little 
countenance for the coming chapter of my story, 

I know not how, but it so transpired, that in the first 
soft flush o' spring, Mary and I met in the budding 



SELECTIONS. 11/ 

uplands alone; and as we knelt to pull the pink arbutus 
from the matted ferns, my blowzy curls — that would 
never stay under my cap — touched her brown hair — that 
was too smooth to hold her bonnet — and the wicked god, 
Love, that seems ever to dwell 'mid flowers, did so dare 
me that I kissed her! She started to her feet, but not as 
a deer scents danger, for I saw beneath her self-condemn- 
ing lids, that the prayer o' her heart had been answered ! 
So I crept a little closer and kissed the hem o' her 
garment and said : 

"Mary, this tender bloom within your fragile hand is 
not more pleasing than your own fair face, and were you 
but this vine I'd gladly be the dust beneath, to have 
your tendrils touch me e'er so lightly !" 

Now Mary was no sly coquette but stood serene and 
said in low, true tones : 

"I see thee lovest me, Timothy, and 1 have long 
thought well o' thee, and if thee findest favor in my 
father's eyes, I'll be thy loving wife — not else." 

Did seem to me that as we, hand in hand, strolled 
homeward, some demon o' the air had stolen those words 
"not else" to gibe above, below, to hiss into my ear and 
shriek from out the forest as he fled ! 

Now I doubt not that the kindling for this confla- 
gration had been gathered by the hand o' fate from the 
hour o' our births, yet when the spark let fall did seem 
to me a most relentless fire, though I acted hastily in 
rushing to the old man for a bucket o' water wherewith 
to temper the flames. But you can no more reason with 
a starving man about the blowing o' his broth than you 
can help smiling when he howls for his haste. 

The house was too small for me that evening so I 
trod the air outside, and when the flicker o' a candle told 
me that the master was alone, I rapped lightly on the 
sitting-room door. A surprised voice bade me enter. 
The master sat by a table, his index finger marked his 
place on the open page, his eyes peering curiously above 
his glasses. That my courage might have no time for 
eking I began at once the unburdening o' my soul. 



Il8 SELECTIONS. 

"Mr. Hacker," said I, and the words seemed unhu- 
manly loud, "I come to beg that further extension o' thy 
fatherly generosity that shall make me thy son indeed." 

Now if he had only buoyed me with one word, the 
situation would have been bearable, but as it was I 
seemed drowning, sinking never to rise again, in pitiless, 
fathomless silence ! With a mighty effort, as one half 
conscious breaks a nightmare, I cried imploringly, "Your 
child has honored me with her love, and 'tis for you to 
say if she shall bear my name, which God be my witness, 
shall yet be worthy o' her!" 

Ah, my friend, a Quaker's a Quaker- and a man's a 
man ! 'Twas as the latter my master arose, transformed 
by such righteous indignation as makes a king o' a 
commoner, and trembling, white to the teeth, said he : 
"Thy name! I know not that thee hast a name save 
from thine own perfidious tongue ! Thee art more 
ungrateful than the beast with which I bought thee ! 
Thee hast cast an evil spell upon my house. Thee hast 
led my son in the ways o' sin and tried to steal my 
daughter. Get thee forever from my sight and may the 
wrath o' God attend thee !" and as he pointed to the 
door that stood ajar, I backed respectfully from his 
presence with that humility that becomes a sinful man 
who has dared to love an angel ! 

Slowly I climbed the steps o' my room above the 
springhouse and threw together a bundle o' clothes for my 
wanderings. 

This shouldered, I stumbled on to the highway, 
looking back just once at the little window that the stars 
were lovingly guarding. As I came to the cross roads I 
was suddenly accosted by a kindly voice from behind the 
meeting house. "Hist, Timothy !" it said, " 'tis only 
Hal. Hath thee forgotten David and Jonathan? Take 
this, and when thee art able, return it," and thrusting a 
purse o' his hard earnings mto my astonished fingers, he 
took back down the road with such alacrity as paternal 
ire begets. 



SELECTIONS. I I9 

1 Stood transfixed in the moonlight ! No matter 
where I turned my face, I saw only my arid future upon 
which the finger o' fate had written in great black letters 
'■'pariah, pariaJi!"' All thought gave way to hot and cold 
sensations and I know not how I got up the pike, but 
sure it was — though I redden to tell it — that I turned 
inco the inn and was soon that drunk that I shouldn't 
have known Mary from the sign o' the Eagle that flapped 
in the wind outside, bad luck to my unaccustomed head. 

By peep o' day, I took to the woods for shame and 
upon the Conestoga road fell in with some emigrants 
who were following up a fall prospectus with a spring 
move. "Sure," thou Tht I, "my guardian angel must have 
been a teamster in his day. to be ever sending a wagon 
for the transportation o' my sorrow." 

With the help o' Hal's loan, I joined the party to 
Kentucky. You've read a thousand times o' those trails and 
their trials. When we struck our clearing on the banks o' 
the Cumberland, 'twas late in the month o' May and 
nature danced to greet us. As I drew the bar from my 
batten door and gazed across the dew bespangled scene, 
methought how well 'twould be if man would pattern 
more from the God that made him, for even his barriers 
have their charms. I could not for the life o' me erase 
reflected gladness. From those fortresses o' rose vines 
that overhung the river's bank peeped myriad little faces 
all aglow, each shaming my ungrateful melancholy; and 
so at last joy and grief sat hand clasped, like meek twin 
sisters, in my breast. Though sorrow dulled my brain it 
must have lent a cunning to my hand for, at the end o' 
three years, I found myself owner o' good land with a 
slave or two for the tilling; and though I went by the 
name o' the "wild Irishman" throughout the settlement, 
the small town council failed not to ask my advice in 
affairs o' weight. You'll say I profited little by the fire 
that burned, when I tell you my early training placed me 
at the head o' the county militia. Ere long, an order 
from our governor found me marching after Harrison 
to — I knew not what ! Faith, and he had occasion to 



120 SELECTIONS. 

thank my strength as we turned up the frozen clods that 
built Fort Meigs ! 

'Twas when the British were cutting off Dudley before 
the general's eyes that I volunteered to warn them o' 
their fate, and though my boat shot like an arrow from a 
bow beneath my stroke, 'twas useless ! 

I'd've given the promotion I suffered, the thousand 
dollar reward and all the happiness o' later years were 
there no sadder ending to the siege. 

Among the wounded stragglers that 'scaped from 
brutal Proctor in their boats, was Hal, my foster brother, 
generous, loving Hal, shot through and through. 

You'll pardon me for stopping; there's something in 
the memory that stifles still. 

I held him in my arms, till with a fevered hand he 
penned a note to those at home, and while my tears rained 
heavy on his cheek I swore to be its bearer. 

'Twas then I made good use o' the reward my use- 
less life had brought ; it saved his grave from sacrilege, 
and afterwards bought a monument that stands to-day 
like the small white finger o' time uplifted toward 
eternity ! 

Sure, and I know not if Pharoah set the world a bad 
example when he slew the bearer o' evil tidings. At any 
rate, I trust you may never be unwelcome where sacred 
duty leads. 

'Twas after we'd killed Tecumseh that I left my post 
and slowly took my way to the home o' my youth. My 
resolution was that wavering that as I neared the place I 
left the lawful road and followed the wood path to the 
very spot where some five years agone Love's archer 
found me! 

The sun shivered peacefully about the little stone 
house in the valley, and as I gave the dried lint o' the 
silk weed to the breeze, I thought I'd sooner be an inter- 
minable rest than the fraction o' discord in a melody. 

From leaning on my elbow I sat erect, for in the door 
that looked my way I saw a figure, bonneted and bas- 
keted as if on errand bent. Had I been blind the 



SELECTIONS. 121 

messenger that plies between two hearts that love would 
have told me o' her coming, 

I moved not as she mounted the fence, her garments 
as gray as the rails 'gainst which she leaned, but when she 
turned to descend I stepped behind and took her in my 
idiotic arms. At the sight o' me she gasped and closed her 
eyes as dead. I bore her to the branch near by, I cursed 
myself and e'en the God that made me, and just as 
heartily gave thanks when from the cooling drops she 
opened her eyes and said : " O, Timothy, is it true ? " 

" It is, I swear, my own sweet love," said I, " and 
all these ugly years of separation are but a dream ! " 

"Yes, yes," sighed she, "A dream from which poor 
Hal shall know no waking. Thou need'st not speak ! " 
she cried, " for though no lips have said it, 1 know 
it all. I've had a message from another world ! " 
and so persuaded was she, that the news I bore was no 
surprise. 

"Thou must not tell my father," said she; when I 
rehearsed the story o' his death ; " he's sadly changed 
since you were here, his mind a wreck, his body wasted 
thin ; let him go in peace." 

After further talk ('tis not for you) I filled her basket 
with the blooming stuff and parted from her at the old 
rail fence, promising to linger 'bout the village and take 
Hal's place as best I could. 

One day a servant lan about with news ; her master, 
Thomas Hacker by name, had fallen dead : the letter in 
his hand, all crumpled and torn, had done it ! 

I've no right to prate o' the sorrow o' others. We laid 
him decently away and though he mentioned me not 
in his will, I'm the proud possessor of his child, his 
wife, and all his goods and chattel. 

They'd like the new State better did the pink arbu- 
tus take more kindly to it. 

Why do I call our home "The Jay's Nest ?" Well 
you see there is so much o' the wisdom o' Solomon that 
I'm after forgetting part o' it, and these brown headed 
bairns o' ours be so contentious that they remind me o' 



122 SELECTIONS. 

naught so much as the old blue jay in the raspberry- 
bushes in the garden, so I honored her with a namesake, 
as the State did me with this county for my services in 
war; though I've obstinately pursued peace since the day 
Tecumseh died. And I've always found it, save when 
my mother-in-law twits me with want o' religion. 

Faith, and I see not why this banner o' blue, unfurled 
above all men alike, be not a good enough lesson o' 
charity and love for any man, and he be not as stubborn 
as the beast that bought me. Benjamin Avis. 

(Minnie M. Sayre.) 



THE WRITING MASTER AT BRIER PATCH. 



(Copyrighted.) 

One day las' fall Caledony' and the Roberson gals 
and Arizony Stiggers was all a-spendin' the day at our 
house. We didn't know what else to git at, so we let in 
to tryin' of our fortunes with Chestnuts on the hath. 
Caledony was doin' most of the talkin': the chestnuts 
was a-poppin' all over the floor ever-which-away, and we 
was all laughin' and carryin' on like we always do when 
Caledony is around; when we heard the dog bark and 
seed the new writin' master a'comin'. Maw she jerked 
the broom quick and swept up the hath — chestnuts and 
all — and yelled at us to hush that foolishness, and go 
wash the ashes off'n our mouths, whar we'd been a eatin' 
roasted chestnuts. 

She went to the door and axed the man to light and 
hitch his critter and come in. We gals got back in the 
shed room and peeped through the crack of the door at 
him, and Arizony snickered so loud I was skeered he'd 
hear her. She's the biggest goose ever I seen about 
laughin'. She claimed him for her sweetheart the minute 
she seen him. Caledony told her she was welcome to him, 
she didn't want him. Maw give him a gourd of water to 
drink, and he 'lowed he'd liked to take a wash. 



SELECTIONS. 1 23 

Flurridy Tennysy, she riz the chist lid and give him 
a new comp'ny towel, one of the sto'-bought hand 
towels that hadn't been washed. He scrubbed and scrub- 
bed a-tryin' to dry his face. "Them as never has tried to 
dry their faces on one of these here new stiff towels, 
'fore the sto' starch is biled out'n it," says Aunt Nancy, 
tryin' to be civil mannered towards him, "don't know 
half how agger-vatin' it is; here's a ole saff one I wove, 
hit beats that'n all to pieces," and the man looked thank- 
ful to git it. 

We gals primpt up and went in to see him. The 
minute the Gooden chillun sees anybody at our house 
or a ridin' nag hitched at the gate they come a-flyin' to 
see who it is. 

They come in, all out of breath, and stood around 
watchin' the man when he untied his bundle of copy- 
books pine blank like he had a monkey show. We gals 
watched him, too, and he showed us the speciments of 
his handwrite and all sorter little birds drawn in red and 
blue ink, some a settin' on quill pens, some with leaves 
in their mouths, and some with love letters in their 
mouths; and he had a goose aswimmin' on the water 
that he said he made all at once't without takin' up his 
pen. Aunt Nancy, she winked at maw ; she didn't 
believe nairy word of it. By that time Mis' Gooden had 
come in. She 'lowed she seed the chillun runnin' over 
here like the house was on fire, and she come to see what 
was the matter. But Sister Gooden's got right smart 
chance of curiosity herse'f. 'Feared like them chillun 
would just bardaciously climb all over the man, spite of 
all they mammy could do. She kep' a jerkin' of 'em 
back and a-yellin' at 'em. "Stan' back, chillun," says she, 
"the gentleman don't wan't to nuss you'uns. Set down, 
Jackey, 'fore I slap you; come here. Sweety, you are too 
big a gal to act that a-way ; you chillun act thes like you 
never seen no handwrite afore, and you know your Uncle 
Hagan Miller drawed birds and tarrapins, too, out'n red 
and blue ink, and made all them sorter curly-cues — tain't 
nothin' to do. Stan' back, fore I knock yer sprawlin'." 



124 SELECTIONS. 

They wouldn't stand back long at a time ; they 
wanted to take a-holt of ever'thing. Some chillun can't 
see nuthin' without tetchin' of it. 

Pap come in, and the writin* master got atter him to 
let him put our names down to take lessons. Pap 'lowed: 
"I don't know as I keer about it ; my folks can all write 
tollible fair fists; leastways they can read it theyselves. 
But I reckin they'll all want to take, they inginnerly takes 
ever' fool thing that comes along — even to the measles. 
They buy goods from all the peddlers, and always git 
cheated. They tuck cypherin' lessons from that rethmetic 
man; and he was a-gwine to learn them all so fast how to 
do any sum in the United States in two minutes and a 
half; and he never so much as larnt 'em to count a settin* 
of aigs. Then they tuck singin' from that ar do-ray-me, 
far-so-lar, trout-mouthed fiddler that come along here last 
year; and he never larnt 'em to sing even so much as 
'Old Dan Tucker.' But the fack of the business is this 
here whole settlement is about half crazy. They runs 
wild after any new-fangled humbug that happens to come 
along. But nevertheless, howsomever, notwithstanding, 
singin', you know, is one thing, and writin' is tother; and 
while I maintains to the doctrine that a purty hand- 
write ain't no sign of smartness, nevertheless, notwith- 
standing, I never stands as no stumblin' block in the 
way of my chillun larnin' nothin.' 'Live and larn,' have 
always been my martow. But I'll tell you the truth and 
stake my affidavy on it, that the biggest fool I ever seen 
writ the beautifullest hand-write." 

Maw, she was a-feard the man would take it to his- 
self, so she tried to smooth it over, and 'lowed: " But it 
takes mighty smart folks to draw all them purty birds and 
things.,' 

"Nevertheless, notwithstanding," pap went on to 
say, "you 'uns can all take lessons ef you'r mine to, I 
know in reason taint a-gwine to be nothin' but a frolic, 
but I never stands in the way of no fun, nuther" 

So the writin master tuck down all our names, and 
pap was right ; it was a frolic. All the young folks in 



SELECTIONS. 12$ 

the settlement tuck lessons jist fur the fun of gettin' 
together ; and some of the old folks tuck for the same 
reason. Old man Loftis 'lowed he had allers heard it 
said it was never too late to larn, and he was a-gwine to 
larn how to sign his name if nothin' more — 'peared like 
he had been a-makin' of his X mark long enough. Old 
man Wiggins 'lowed Brother Loftis shouldn't come ahead 
of him, and told the writin' master to put his name down 
too. Old Mrs. Strong 'lowed to Aunt Nancy : " I been 
a-gwine all my life without writin', and I git along about 
as well as them that writes, and my chillun can do the 
same thing ; they hain't no better'n me ; I got no money 
to fling away on no sich tomfoolery." 

Next Sunday we all met at the " Brier Patch " 
schoolhouse. The boys tacked a shelf up ag'in the side 
of the house for us to write on, and fixed a long bench 
side of it, and we scrouged in close and the teacher 
walked back of us. Me and Caledony sot together, and 
had a sight of fun laughin' at tothers, but never larnt much 
ourselves. I looked away down at tother end of the bench 
and seed Iky Robertson writin' slow and twistin' his 
mouth ever' word he writ, and looking solemn. I 
nudged Caledony to look at him, and we got to gigglin'. 
Caledony whispered to me to look at Cap Dewberry- "Do 
look at Cap," says she, " he's a fixin' to whistle." " Look 
at Aunt Nancy," says I, "she's a cuttin' out a frock with 
the scissors.' "And look at old Wiggins. He looks like 
he had et a green 'simmon," say Caledony. " Watch ever 
last one of 'em," says she. 

Ever' one twistin', and screwin' ther mouths over 
ever' word they wrote; but Iky Roberson's mouth was the 
funniest of all, and her and me got into such a tickle and 
giggle and gigglement the teacher had to come and see 
what was the matter, and Caledony she 'lowed : "Hain't 
ther some way to larn a body to write without twistin' 
ther mouths ?" 

He 'lowed he didn't twist his mouth; but we watched 
when he sot the next copy, and he looked like he was 
fixin' to whistle, too. 



126 SELECTIONS. 

He agreed to teach ten days. The time was most 
out, and we was all powerful sorry, not that we keered 
for the lessons, but the boys walked home with us ever' 
evenin' and we was havin' so much fun. A right smart 
chance of courtin' went on; boys too shame-faced to talk 
courted with pen and ink — that's what some of 'em tuck 
lessons for. Me and Cal got a whole passel of love 
poetry, writ in blue and red ink with birds and fllowers 
drawed all around the verses. 

Arizony tuck up right smart of her time drawin' birds 
with a love letter in their mouths, and hearts with arrows 
run through 'em. It was the talk that the teacher was a- 
courtin' of Arizony — kase he drawed more birds and 
geese for her than anybody else — but she denied it. 
When the last day of the lessons come, we was all waitin' 
at the schoolhouse for the teacher, Arizony hadn't come 
neither. After while we heard a horse gallopin' up the 
Brier Patch road, fast, like somebody was a-gwine after 
the Dock. A man rid up to the schoolhouse; all of us 
ran to the door and seed it was old man Stiggers, 
Arizony's pa. He was so awful mad he couldn't hardly 
talk. "Whar is Arizony ?" says he. We told him she 
hadn't been thar — none of us hadn't seed her. "Then," 
says he, madder than ever, "Whar's that simbling-headed, 
'possum-mouthed writing master ? Have any of you 
'uns seed him to-day ?" We told him no and, he never 
said another word. He layed hickory to that old ridin' 
critter, and galloped off towards town like lightnin.' You 
see they suspicioned sump'n at home, and when they 
missed Arizon's Sunday hat and frock and her hand- 
satchel, too, they knowed in reason she had run away to 
marry the writin' master; and the old man he pitched out 
to ketch 'em; but he was a little too late. When he got 
to town they was done married. 

Betsy Hamilton, 
in The Constitution. 



SELECTIONS. 1 27 

ALABAMA. 



Air — JPreusseu, Preussen Ueber Alles. 
I. 

Alabama, Alabama, 

We will aye be true to thee; 
From thv Southern shore where groweth 

By the sea, thuie orange tree. 
To thy northern vale where floweth 

Deep and blue th_v Tennessee, 
Alabama! Alabama! 

We will aye be true to thee! 

II. 

Broad the stream whose name thou bearest, 

Grand thy Bigby rolls along; 
Fair thv Coosa — Tallapoosa — 

Bold "thy Warrior, dark and strong, 
Goodlier than the land which Moses 

Climbed lone Nebo's mount to see, 
Alabama! Alabama! 

We will aye be true to thee. 

III. 
From thy prairies broad and fertile 

Where the snow white cotton shines, 
To the hills where coal and iron 

Hide in thy exhaustless mines; 
Strong armed miners, sturdy farmers, 

Loval hearts where'er we be, 
Alabama! Alabama! 

We will aye be true to thee! 

IV. 
From thy quarries where the marble, 

White as that of Paros gleams — 
Waiting till thv sculptor's chisel 

Wake to life" thy poets' dreams— 
For not only wealth of nature, 

Wealth of mind boast thou in thee; 
Alabama! Alabama! 

We will aye be true to thee! 

V. 

Where the perfumed south wind whispers 

Thy magnolia groves among; 
Softer than a mother's kisses, 

Sweeter than a mother's song; 



128 SELECTIONS. 

Where the golden jessamine trailing 

Wooes the treasure-laden bee; 
Alabama! Alabama! 

We will aye be true to thee! 

VI. 

Brave and true thv men and women, 

Better this than corn and wine; 
Keep us worth}', God in Heaven! 

Of this goodly land of thine; 
Hearts as onen as our door-ways, 

Liberal hands and spirits free; 
Alabama! Alabama! 

We will aye be true to thee! 

VII. 

Little, little can I give thee, 

Alabama! Mother mine! 
But that little, hand, brain, spirit, 

All I have and am is thine — 
Take, O take the gift and giver. 

Take and save thyself with me — 
Alabama! Alabama! 

I will aye be true to thee! 

Julia Striidvjick Tutwiler, itt the Mobile Herald- Woman's Edition. 



POMEGRANATES. 



Pomegranates sweet and pomegranates sour 

Hang in the red October sun: 
Nobody knew, when they were in flower 

And their life had just begun, 
Which was the sweet and which was the sour, 

Till they ripened one by one. 

The blooms were hats of cardinal hue 

And trumpets of yellow flame; 
And as the fruits to perfection grew. 

Their red-coats were just the same. 
Then the darts of the sun cleft the rinds in two, 

And their deep-red laearts burst out to view, 
But till they were tasted, nobody knew 

Where the sweet and the sour came. 

For pomegranate sour is a bitter cheat. 
But a luscious thing is pomegranate sweet! 



SELECTIONS. 1 29 

In youth-time's bright and ros_v bower 

A bevy of maidens plav: 
Their fresh young life is just in flower, 
But wliich is the sweet and which is the sou.-, 

Pray, who will dare to say ? 

But there w-ill come a day 
When life's sharp darts 
Will cleave their hearts, 
And taste we must in adversity's hour 
Which nature is sweet an'l which is the sour. 

Zitella Cocke, in Boston Record. 



THE NEW MAN. 



And, now comes a question, which is forcing its way 
into the consideration of writers and orators, namely ; 
"What is the New Man ?" It is a question that knocks 
at the door of pubHc opinion for an answer. It is to the 
front, with many new problems that pertain to the latter 
part of this wonderful nineteenth century. It stood 
aside, in timorous abeyance, while that other interroga- 
tion, "What is the New Woman ?" stalked boldly forward 
on all occasions. Now, that this first question, in frayed 
and worn garments, is hiding its weary head behind the 
mass of public comment, this other candidate for con- 
sideration appears with the freshness and vigor of youth 
in its face. Little it recks what is in store for its untried 
form; what blows await its devoted head, and how bat- 
tered and weary it will be when the verdict of the jury is 
rendered. But, ere its remorseless fate overtakes it, ere, 
its worn body is borne from the arena of public discus- 
sion, upon the litter of exhausted patience, we may 
express our views upon this new form of creation. Whom 
say you that the "New Man" is ? He is not surely he 
who, beneath the tender shades of the first apple tree, 
cast the blame of his misdoing upon a weak and tremb- 
ling woman. It is not he who deceived a blind and 
doting father, to receive an undeserved blessing; nor he 



130 SELECTIONS. 

who carried into the hot desert to die the woman who 
loved him and her son, who, upon the burning winds, 
sent out the cry for food and drink; nor he who set his 
friend in front of an advancing army, that he might be 
slain in order that he might gain the wife whom he desired; 
nor he who denied his Master, — nor yet he who betrayed 
Him for wealth or fame. And, coming down to other 
times, it is not he who shut up the woman he loved, in a 
moated grange, while he went forth in the beauty and 
warmth of God's beautiful sunshine ; nor sang songs of 
love, beneath the window of some luckless creature, who 
afterwards bore upon her tired heart the burden of disap- 
pointed hopes. Nor yet the man, who believed that 
woman should be shut from the light of day in languorous 
ease, while the perfumes of Araby lulled her brain to 
sleep; nor he who holds that woman is a beast of burden, 
created solely for the use of man. 

No, he is none of these ! But, like him of old, who 
seeing the need of those in the wilderness, he will strike 
the rocks, which bring forth refreshing streams. He 
will raise before the eyes of suffering humanity the sign 
of hope and healing, and go forward, carrying in his 
brave heart the love of God and man. He will battle for 
the right against all odds of power and place, and will lift 
with strong hands the weak and stumbling along the arid 
paths of life. The throb of his big heart tells of love and 
sympathy, and keeps time to songs of angels. And, next 
to his Creator, he believes in woman, because his mother 
was one, and because the infant eyes of his Saviour 
smiled into those of an earthly mother. He knows that 
woman is more than a mere physical animal ; knows that 
she has brains, as well a^ heart, intellect as well as body; 
and he also knows that that man is strongest who is forti- 
fied by the affection and advice of a loving, active, intel- 
lectual woman. He believes that a woman may be good, 
without being an idiot, and that the more cultivated the 
women of the land become, the grander the possibilities 
of the human race. He also holds that a woman may 
express in a proper way, and at a proper time, the views 



SELECTIONS. I3I 

that spring from a well-trained mind, and yet preserve 
womanhood ; and that she may possess brains, and still 
be a devoted wife and mother. He believes in advancing 
women, along all helpful lines, and dreads no competi- 
tion, having sublime and absolute faith in the heart, soul 
and intellect of a true woman. And, above all, he is 
willing to trust his children in such a woman's care, know- 
ing that it has been the women of moral and mental 
forct, who have been the mothers of the great men of the 
world. 

Such is the "New Man," and as such we give him 
welcome. Mrs. Geo. C. Ball. 



HOW TO RULE A HUSBAND. 



(" Once A Week," of New York, offered a prize for 
the best article upon the subject. Miss Lida B. Robert- 
son, of Mobile, won it over many competitors, and 
charmed all musculine readers by the following excellent 
advice.) 

No husband is invulnerable to love, tact and common 
sense. He will yield as surely to such a sceptor as the 
needle does to the pole. Let whosoever will test the 
following rules ; 

First, love him. Not with sentimental gush, but 
with that frank trust that knows no suspicion — even if 
you find the letter of another's fair hand in the pocket 
which you are mending. It is likely an appeal for charity 
or some indigent widow begging a position for her son. 
Nothing makes a man's heart so obdurate as a wife's 
distrust. 

Do not indulge in prying into his affairs. If he docs 
fool you a little are you the happier for detecting it ? 

If he still clings to bachelor days' habits of lingering 
out late at night do not indulge in tears and upbraidings. 



132 SELECTIONS. 

Bestir yourself. If the sitting room's upholstery is 
too fine for him to loll upon move it out. Place on the 
center table a soft, glowing light. Lay his favorite papers 
on the corner, and especially never tear up his "latest." 
Set a comfortable easy chair, stripped of all jingling 
furbelows, close by. Put slippers and dressing gown in 
easy reach. 

Appareled in a dainty, becoming gown, await his 
coming as you used to do as his sweetheart. Greet nim 
winsomely, however late the hour — Honey entices bees; 
vinegar never. Such home comforts will so permeate him 
through, that thereafter he will stride by all of the allure- 
ments in town to get to it — and to you. Then be com- 
panionable. If he likes politics, metaphysics, the turf or 
chess, and you do not, appropriate some of that spare 
time devoted to novels in posting yourself. Study like 
you used to do your Latin to avoid being "kept in." If 
you desire to "keep him in" just chat upon his "hobby" 
with him and you will have no trouble at all. 

If you wish him to spend his evenings at home with 
you, do not save all your graces and smiles for outsiders 
and deluge him, like a shower bath, with complaints and 
household tribulations as soon as he comes in from the 
day's business cares. You will soon be spending them 
"alone," for he will remain out late, hoping to find your 
tongue stilled in slumber on his return. 

If he is a huntsman, do not plant the entire backyard 
in flowers, and then say there is no place for a dog. 
Humor his fads of fishing and bird hunting if you want 
to keep him from hunting worse amusements. 

To prevent his eyes from ever turning to seek beauty 
and grace in pother women make yourself as sweet and 
attractive looking at home as lies within your power. 
Remember how much care and thought you used to spend 
to win his heart; now exercise some of it to keep that 
heart. 

Live within his income, however small, and you can 
always readily get money out of him. Never make bills 



SELECTIONS. 1 33 

that he cannot pay and he will always be agreeable, genial 
and loving. 

Do not become extremely affectionate when you want 
something — he will soon learn the trick. Ask frankly. 
The shy tremor in your voice will never meet refusal. 

When he comes in with brow stern and lowering, do 
not imagine that he does not love you, and seek solitude 
to cry about it. Something is the matter. Maybe it is a 
desperate crisis. Adroitly decoy him into conversation 
upon a pleasant topic. He will do so to hide the conflict 
within. Then when stillness creeps over the house and 
you are alone, lay your hand tenderly upon his shoulder, 
look trustingly into his face and ask, "What is the matter 
to-night? Isn't something troubling you ?" The whole 
world could not keep him from telling you, while all the 
tears and upbraidings in Christendom could not have 
extracted it from him. Possibly your timely sympathy 
saved him from sinking beneath it. 

Never allow him to become independent of your 
society. Do not leave him alone and forlorn to swelter 
through summer's heat to make money, while you are off 
spending it in "cooler climes." If he has to stay, you 
stay, too, and he will deem you an adorable woman. 

Though he may be an Ananias himself, a man abhors 
a Sapphira; so be truthful at all times. Nothing turns a 
man's heart into stony self-will like a woman's prevari- 
cations. 

Never tell to confidential neighbors, nor to fashiona- 
ble friends what he has confided in you, and you will soon 
know all that he knows. Nothing makes a husband so 
reserved as the feeling that his wife tells everything. 

Never contradict him. "Silence" is a weapon that 
he cannot parry, hence he soon surrenders. 

Above all, do not "pout." A pouting wife can make 
a man commit reckless deeds in a week that a month's 
kisses cannot remedy — possibly never. Study his idio- 
syncracies. Never combat them openly. Go round them 
like you would an obstacle in the road. Soon you will 
govern him completely by seemingly letting him rule you. 



134 SELECTIONS. 

THE ALABAMA RIVER. 



Through sweet Southland the Alabama flows, 
Where golden corn and snowy cotton grows ; 

The eyes of Night 

With glances bright, 
Lie mirrored on her gently trembling breast. 
While soft south-breezes whisper: — Here -vje rest! 



Through sweet Southland the Alabama tells, 
The screaming whistle and the sounding bells, 

How, long ago, 

Swift to and fro, 
The Indian arrow sped from bark canoe 
Beneath the moss-hung oaks and skies of blue. 



Through sweet Southland the Alabama flows 
Where weeping willow for the Indian grows 

Beside the stream. 

And like a dream, 
We see the figures of our pale-faced sires 
On faithful guard beside the forest fires. 



Through sweet Southland the Alabama winds 
Where sunburnt hands the j^ellow fodder binds. 

And to and fro, 

With movement slow. 
The silvery mosses, noiseless swaying there, 
Quaflf mystic draughts of life and feed on air. 



Through sweet Southland the Alabama wends. 
With graceful curve the lovely river trends 

Her silent way 

Towards the Bay. 
And swanlike boats upon her bosom glide 
To tryst with white-sailed vessels on the tide. 



Through sweet Southland the Alabama goes 
Past towering pines and dewy-laden rose, 

Where wildly floats 

The wierdest notes. 
The sweetest song that ever woke the Da}' ! 
The peerless songster wears Confederate grey. 



SELECTIONS. 135 

Our sweet Southland the Alabama binds, 
From crested hills her silver scarf unwinds, 
Her golden sands. 
Her priceless lands, 
Her spotless banner to the breeze unfurled, 
The land of rest, the refuge of the world. 

I. M. P. O. 
in the Expositioii Issue of The Greenville Advocate. 



CIRCUMSTANCE. 



Whence is thy might, O Circumstance, 

That thy dread clutch a human soul, 
A destiny, may sei2e .? What chance 

Or power doth fix thy stern control ? 

As petals in the calyx set, 

As gems wrought into metal's clasp. 
As gold ensnared in Iron net — 

So are we held within thy grasp ! 

May we not do, shall we not dare, 

If thy command doth say us nay .' 
Shall life sink aimless in despair, 

When thou dost mock the prayers we pray ? 

Art thou relentless .? Far beyond 

Thy menace, rises dauntless Will, 
Which dares to break thy ruthless bond. 

And nobler destiny fulfill ! 

A craven he, who owns thy thrall, 

And yields his life to thy dictate. 
Who hears and heeds diviner call, 

He is the master of his fate ! 

The sea that bars us from the shore 

Itself shall bear us safely there. 
The Winds, contentious, waft us o'er 

Wild waters to a haven fair : 

And e'en from Circumstance adverse 

The earnest, faithful soul may wrest 
True victory, and from her curse 

Win patience that shall make him blest ! 
ZiTELLA Cocke, 

in rotitk's Companion. 



136 SELECTIONS. 

THE MAGIC COMB. 



HOW IT APPEARED IN EBONVILLE, AND WHAT IT 
EFFECTED. 



When little Miss Thorndyke made her appearance in 
Ebonville she created a sensation, not so much on 
account of her queer looks, which were, indeed, enough 
to make people stare, but through the interest which 
centered around the small satchel she carried with her. 

Miss Thorndyke was followed all about the settle- 
ment by a throng of sable admirers, on whom no slightest 
movement nor word was lost, and the fact that she was 
"bodin' wid Aunt S'brina" only enhanced the general 
curiosity, "for Aunt S'brina was mighty highflown an' 
wouldn't take no po' white trash for nuthin'." 

A veritable dot was little Miss Thorndyke. She 
looked as if she had stepped from Noah's ark, and her 
age was indescribable. Her hair, slightly streaked with 
gray, fell upon her shoulders in about fifty curls. She 
wore a round hat and veil of ante-bellum days and a 
quaint black silk gown that seemed ancestral, and she 
was further adorned with a profusion of old-fashioned 
furbelows which she fastened upon herself quite indis- 
criminately. 

Her face had a history printed upon every feature, 
but she was a mysterious person, and had anyone asked 
the simple inhabitants of Ebonville who or what she was 
they would have answered, "Law chile! what we keer ? 
So long she stay to Aunt S'brina's she's folks." 

Perhaps in no other given space outside of Ebonville 
had congregated such an unmixed population of what is 
commonly known as the typical "black nigger;" a happy, 
hardy, rural race, full of old-time superstitions, content 
with the possession of a small tract of arable land, a 
primitive log cabin, a wife, an ever increasing tribe of 



SELECTIONS. 1 37 

young ones, plenty of hoecake and bacon, a warm hearth 
in winter, watermelons in summer and a good big funeral 
when the end of all things come. 

Aunt S'brina alone was set apart from the others on 
account of her "high rearin*," and when Miss Thorndyke, 
on her arrival, took up her quarters there the old lady 
grew more consequential than ever. 

"Dunno wat dese niggers come er pokin' fur — like 
you was a cuccus show. 'Pears like dey ain't got no 
manners nor nothin ." 

"Oh, that doesn't matter," interposed Miss Thorn- 
dyke graciously, "and what is more I want to know them. 
Do you think I might invite them to a little talk at the 
schoolhouse to-night?" 

"'Vite 'em ! Law honey, jes you say you gwine da 
an, you needn't do no 'vitin'." said Aunt S'brina with a 
grin. 

True enough. When Miss Thorndyke reached the 
school house she found all Ebonville awaiting her, and 
mounted the platform amid impressive silence. 



"My friends," she began, in a voice remarkably loud 
and clear for such a small body, "I'm going to tell you 
something that I know will please you — the reason why 
I've come down here, all the way from Minnesota, and 
what I'm going to do for you." 

Miss Thorndyke here produced her satchel, which 
the audience eyed with open-mouthed curiosity, and, 
after rummaging through its contents, she secured at 
length a little instrument which she held up for general 
inspection. 

"This," she exclaimed, "is an electric comb. ' Now, 
electricity is a sort of magic and does some wonderful 
things, and this comb is magic, too. It is good magic," 
she added, as a look of awe stole through the assembly, 
"and I can make it do something that you will all like 
very much indeed." 



138 SELECTIONS. 

She paused to note the effect of her words and at the 
same time carefully removed her antiquated bat and veil, 
disclosing the mass of curls that adorned her head. 

" Several years ago," she continued, " I couldn't 
make my hair curl at all, but when I bought this comb 
and ran it through my head a few times it curled beauti- 
fully. I tried it on a great many people and everybody 
was delighted. Then I began to think if that comb 
could conjure straight hair like mine it could conjure 
curly hair like yours, my friends, and make it straight, so 
what do you think I did?" and Miss Thorndyke smiled 
as her glance swept the wondering crowd. 

" Well," she continued confidentially. '' I will tell 
you. I had a colored friend named Dinah, and I made 
her take off all the little strings that she wrapped around 
her hair and throw them away." Instantly all hands in 
the audience went up to their heads, but Miss Thorndyke 
took no notice as she went on with her narrative. 

" Then I made her wash her hair thoroughly, and 
when it was quite dry — " 

''I reckon you conjured it," called out a voice from 
the rear. 

" No. I only combed it two or three times with my 
magic comb and tied it up carefully in a clean white 
cloth for a week, and when I took off the cloth her hair 
was just as straight and soft and silky as could be." 

An excited murmur rose among her hearers, and 
again Miss Thorndyke stopped to let it slabside. 

Now, when Dinah saw what I had done, she was very 
happy, and wanted to pay me five bright silver dollars 
for the trouble I had taken, but I said, "No, Dinah ! you 
are a poor, hard-working woman, and I couldn't take so 
much from you, two dollars will be quite enough. And 
this, my friends, I will do for you. I believe the Lord 
has put me here for this work, and I shall try to do it 
well." 

Miss Thorndyke was growing tearful. At this point 
she pressed her handkerchief to her eyes, while sympa- 
thetic exclamations were heard on every side. 



SELECTIONS. 1 39 

"Thank you so much !" said the little woman with 
emotion. "My heart is too full to talk more. I will only 
say that all who wish me to make their hair straight, I 
will do so for the sum of two dollars for every head. Eh! 
what's that?" she suddenly asked as she became aware of 
the disturbance amongr the audience. 



A tall, angular woman made her way towards the 
platform. She held a child by the hand, and her shiny 
black face wore a broad grin. 

The child, a boy of about lo years, was a remarkable 
specimen to be found in the precincts of Ebonville. His 
complexion was verv light, his eyes, were of a watery 
blue. His hair, something the color of Georgia clay, 
hung upon his head in a straight, though tangled, shock. 
Only a certain thickness of feature proclaimed him in the 
least akin to any one around him, and even as he unwil- 
lingly followed his guide up the aisle a few hisses were 
heard; and some one called out: 

"Da he go, ! po' white trash ! Good kingdom com ! 
w'at he gwme do now!" 

They might well ask, for the boy's nether lip pro- 
truded dismally, and he gave vent to a succession of howls 
that shook the building to its slender foundation. 

"Cyant dat chile shet he mouf, Hannah?" inquired 
Aunt S'brina severely, from her position of state on the 
platform behind Miss Thorndyke. 

"It's feelin' he has," retorted Hannah. "Jes you 
'magine yo' ownse'f if dey call you po' white trash, all 
case you warn't pot black. Stop dat squallin', Hinry, or 
I mek you, sho!" she said threateningly, and forthwith 
administered a shaking that smothered a final bellow, 
and wheeled him at the same time just in front of Miss 
Thorndyke. 

"Is this your little boy?" asked the lady pleasantly. 

Hannah's smile grew broader. "Law, no, miss! 
Hinry ain't no 'lation, 'cept jes' in de fam'ly. He my 



I40 SELECTIONS. 

husband's cousin's sister's chile, an' dat's how come he 
lib wid us. 'Pears like he don't want he haid oncurled. 
He say he's nigger. He ain't no po' white trash." 

"Of course not," said Miss Thorndyke, with a bright 
smile. "I'll run the magic comb through his hair and he 
will have beautiful ringlets like mine. And now, my 
friends," raising her voice once more, "all who wish me 
to do this thing for them go to work as Dinah did. 
To-morrow morning every head must be thoroughly 
washed and combed, and to-morrow night you must meet 
me here again, each one with a nice clean cloth and two 
dollars." With which closing remarks Miss Thorndyke 
put on her hat and veil, took up the treasured satchel, 
and, with a wave of her hand, dismissed her audience. 



Ebonville on the next day was in a ferment of prepa- 
ration, and the spring that gurgled at the foot of a hill 
about a mile beyond the settlement was the rendezvous 
from sunrise to sunset of various squads of ablutionists. 
Verily such a scene had never before been witnessed since 
the days when nymphs combed their shining tresses on 
the banks of mythical streams, only in this instance vanity 
was not confined to the women, for the early hours were 
usurped by the men on their way to the fields, and the 
quantity of soap used upon that memorable day was 
unheard of in the annals of Ebonville. 

Into the unresisting spring went the woolly heads, 
and out they came to be mopped and combed, and the 
simple fellows went to their work, each individual hair 
standing on end "like quills upon the fretiul porcupine." 

Thither wandered a small army of mothers, with 
swarms of expectant children, their big eyes stretched to 
the widest limit of curiosity concerning these strange 
proceedings. Into the cleansing element each was dipped 
with clamor enough to wake the Seven Sleepers. All 
the little pigtails, so carefully wound with shoe-lacings, 
bits of twine and odds and ends of gay ribbon, were 



SELECTIONS. 141 

unfastened and the small creatures sported in the woods, 
shaking their heads in delicious freedom — rejoicing after 
their own manner. 

The women, of course, made the most of the occa 
sion. They encamped by the spring, bringing their days' 
work, and even cooking there, gipsy fashion, in order to 
lose no phase of this eventful period. 

Aunt S'brina alone failed to share the general enthu- 
siasm, though she so far descended from her high estate as 
to bring her " log cabin " quilt to the spring where, upon 
a grassy mound somewhat apart from the others she plied 
her needle. On this day the Ebonville folk " ' lowed she 
was more high than ever." In truth the good dame's 
contempt of the whole affair bristled at every point, and 
when a few more venturesome in the community were 
bold enough to ask her if she expected to have her head 
conjured that night her scorn was fine indeed. 

" 'Spec' me to meek a fool er myself? Law chile ! 
dis chicken warn't borned yestiddy. I ain't no plum eejit 
fur to go agin de Lawd an' He ways ; dis ole nigger wool 
ain't done me no harm, an' I'm er gwine ter hole on 
while I kin." And Aunt S'brina shook her turbaned head 
defiantly at the respectful group gathered about her. 

"Sech er washin' an' er washin' 'pears like yer neb- 
ber seen no water befo' dis yere white 'oman come er 
long wid her talk. Wat she gwine ter do, anyhow ? Jes 
run her ole iron comb in yer haids, tie 'em up, tek yo' 
money an' go !" 

"How come you hob-nobbing' wid her den ?" asked 
Hannah, sarcastically, holding Henry's lathered head in 
her hands preparatory to a final ducking. 

Aunt S'brina smiled down upon the questioner with 
a superior air. 

" Dar now, wal I nebber ! An' don't her bodin' 
buy me 'lasses, an' meal, an' kindlin,' an' clo'es, and de 
Lawd knows wat ? Hows'mever, I ain't er gwine ter 
sot up dar an' 'low nobody ter spile er fine nigger. I 
ain't no sech." 



142 SELECTIONS. 

The foregoing harangue was delivered with variations 
many times during the course of that day, but for once 
Aunt S'brina's eloquence was powerless to stem the tide 
of popular sentiment, and when the night came the school 
house was packed with a bushy-headed assembly, and the 
clink of silver coin or the rustle of crisp bills sounded 
pleasantly to Miss Thorndyke's ears as once more taking 
her place on the platform she glanced at the rows of 
eager faces and noted the careful preparations. 

Then the work began and it was a funny sight to 
watch each applicant march up the aisle, deposit the 
money in the open palm extended for it, take a seat in 
the chair provided for the operation, submit with a wry 
countenance to the mysterious tweakings and twitchings 
of the magic comb, and finally depart swathed in white 
bands wound Ethiopian fashion about each devoted head. 

"And now," concluded Miss Thorndyke, when after 
an hour's breathless silence the task was finished, "I am 
but a servant of the Lord. I can do no more. I am 
called away and must labor in other fields. Meanwhile 
keep your heads tied up for a week; at the end of that 
time assemble once again in the presence of the elders of 
your church; take off the cloths and I promise you that 
your hair will be soft and silky as you could wish. Fare- 
well, my friends, farewell. I am glad to feel that I have 
been of some small service to you." Stretching out her 
hands in dramatic benediction Miss Thorndyke grasped 
the precious satchel, now over-weighted with her recent 
earnings, and picked her way daintily through the staring 
throng, out in,:o the gathering darkness, closely followed 
by Henry, her devoted satellite, who volunteered to show 
her the way to the next plantation settlement. 

Two paths lay before them, either through the woods 
or the cornfield, and Miss Thorndyke hesitated in her 
choice, while Henry proved himself unequal to sug- 
gestions. 

"De woods is ha'nted," was his reply to anxious 
inquiries. 'T done seen de ghostes' foots." 



SELECTIONS. 143 

Miss Thorndyke gave a little shriek. "Gracious ! 
We won't go that way. How about the cornfield ?" 

"Nothin' da' 'cep' a ole sca'crow," answered Henry 
with a grin. 

"I — I don't like scarecrows," faltered the lady ner- 
vously. "Is there no other way?" 

Henry shook his bandaged head, and so they turned 
their steps toward the cornfield. 



This tract of land was the special pride of Ebonville. 
The good people had their separate possessions, which 
they cultivated, each man according to his notion, but 
they united their energies on corn and several acres tes- 
tified to their industry. As far as the eye could reach 
was a waving mass of silken tassels, and as little Miss 
Thorndyke and her still smaller companion plunged into 
the field, the great stalks closed about and completely 
enveloped them, towerin^^ so high above their heads that 
only the occasional glimmer of the stars and the faint 
light of the moon shone upon them from the obscured 
heavens. 

They walked throut^li a maze of greenery perplexing 
enough in broad day light, but terrifying in the weird 
stillness of the night to t ven bolder people. The child 
did not attempt to hide his fright, and Miss Thorndyke 
was in that condition wi.tti the sound of her own voice 
would have complete!)' unnerved her, so they went 
swiftly and silently aloii^ the path, which appeared inter- 
minable, while on ever\ iiand the corn seemed to spring 
up as if ready to swallow them. 

Suddenly Miss Thorndyke stood still and grasped 
Henry by the shoulder 

"What is that?" she whispered, pointing ahead, where 
something loomed dark, even against the deep shadow 
which encompassed them. 

"I — I — 1 — d — dunuo," stammered the boy, beside 
himself with terror, which the little woman fully shared. 
"Lis'n, it's de — de — sca'crow." 



144 SELECTIONS. 

The last words seemed to reassure Miss Thorndyke. 
She marched bravely towards the ominous spot, her head 
well up, though every limb was trembling and she was 
about to pass that trying point when a stern, threatening 
voice arrested her progress and held her rooted to the 
place. 

"Drap dat 'ere satchel!" it rang out clear and com- 
manding, and behold, with a loud jingle, the treasured 
article fell from Miss Thorndyke's nerveless fingers. 

"Now, go 'long," was the next command, and agree- 
ably to the suggestion, Miss Thorndyke put wings to her 
heels and sped away through the darkness, while Henry, 
with some vague notion that the devil was after him, fled 
in another direction, leaving the scarecrow in triumphant 
possession of the field. 

During the next week Ebonville presented a curious 
appearance. Every living soul — the very smallest child — 
kept faith to the letter, and never during that trying 
interval thought of removing their novel neadgear. Aunt 
S'brina was the sole exception — -her revered locks were 
stowed away as usual under a gay bandana. 

At last the decisive day arrived. The church, which 
was fitly chosen, as the scene of the grand revelation, was 
filled at an early hour and the presiding elder could 
scarcely control his impatience as one by one, in pairs 
or in groups, they filed in. With due solemnity 
the order was given to unbandage. It was instantly 
obeyed, and lo! every head stood revealed. Alas, not 
indeed as Miss Thorndyke had predicted, but in all the 
expansiveness of the original "kink." 

A moment of dumb dismay was soon followed by a 
swelling murmur of indignation which swept through the 
church, in the midst of which Aunt S'brina rose and 
moved with dignity to the front. 

" Listen ter me — my bred'ren an' sisters an' chillun, 
an' if yer d'nt want ter be fooled agin' cum fust an' ax old 
Aunt S'brina, wat ain't had her bo'de money yet. How- 



SELECTIONS. I45 

sumever — but who gwine ter git it dis time sho'. Go 
'long you fool niggers — an' hunt roun' fur destiing — an* 
de shoe lacin' an' dat two dollars wat you fro'ed in de 
well!" 

Here a smothered groan broke into the discourse. 

" Das right. Keep er moanin' an' er groanin' — but 
you cyant beat dis hyar," and with a wave and a flourish 
— Aunt S'brina deposited the well-known satchel in the 
reading desk before her. 

" Now, look er hyar," she went on, "I misrusted from 
de fust, an' time dat ar white 'oman git up in de meetin' 
an' skoot 'thout sayin' t'ank ye fur dat bo'de, dis chile git 
up too, an' I fotch back all she took, 'lowin' dese niggers 
haids wern't goin' ter do nuthin' but stay jes like de Lawd 
mek 'em." 

There was a general movement among the congrega- 
tion toward the reading desk, but Aunt S'brina laid a 
firm hand upon the satchel. 

" Now, my bred'ren an' sisters, I done lose my bo'de, 
an' I done fin' yo' money. Wat yer gwine do 'bout 
dat?" 

The question puzled them, but Aunt S'brina settled 
it finally. 

" Fur ev'ry two dollar wat you git gimme one nickel, 
an' I'll call dat square, jes good pay fur bein' fools." 



Agreeable to this plan the contents of the satchel 
were disposed of until at the very bottom lay the magic 
comb that had wrought the mischief. This was seized 
by the irate throng and among them was soon broken to 
pieces. Then the subdued inhabitants wrapped their 
unruly locks severely into their accustomed rolls, restored 
their hard earned savings to the old stockings, tin cans, 
and similar hiding places, turned once more to Aunt 
S'brina as an oracle who never failed and went on their 
way rejoicing. Belle Moses, 

in The Philadelphia Times. 



146 SELECTIONS. 

LAKE CONCHICKING. 



{Dedicated to dear Atherley Friend.) 

Lake Sincoe has been fairlj' sung, 

Its shores with pretlj' garlands hung; 

But let the lesser poet sing 

Of thee, O, lovely Conchicking! 

Thy shining waves are not less fair 
Than Sincoe's vsrith its beaut}' rare; 

But, as a child, thou hast the grace 
That beautifies the mother's face. 

Thy forest trees, when soft winds blow, 

Shake out their boughs, and o'er thee throw 

The witchery of water dressed 
In robes of leaf}' loveliness. 

O, could some artist paint the scene. 

When islands sleep in living green! 
Or paint it when the Autumn's breath 
Has sent loved summer to her death. 

Or paint it when the chilly hand 

Of Northern winds reigns o'er the land, 

And over all their ruin throw 
A mantle made of ice and snow. 

Thy water is the Indian's charm; 

Near by they live. Scant work on farm. 
As irksome duty, they pursue; 

But, heart grows light as bark canoe, 

When o'er the lake they shoot along, 

With dext'rous hand and arm that's strong; 

And talk offcasts, of fish and game, 
Or sing with pride th}' Indian name. 

"O Conchicking ! O Conchicking ! 

To thee our homage true we bring; 
We love thy waters for they lave 

The island, lone, where sleep our brave. 

"But one pale face finds there repose. 

She knew us here — in heaven she knows. 

Our people, whom she taught the way 
From earth's dark night to endless day," 



SELECTIONS. I47 



The Indian maid, with work or book. 
Finds on thy beach a quiet nook; 

She makes a box of traced design, 
Filled in with quills of porcupine. 

She ope's the book, but not to read. 

The printed page is not her greed; 
The murmuring song the wavelets keep. 

As lullaby, wooes her to sleep. 

To thee, O lovely Conchicking ! 

This humble meed of praise I bring, 
And pray thee bless all who abide 

Close bv thv charming waters' side. 



Julia B. Po'vers. in Orelia Packet. 



MINGO. 



Over thirty years ago, a cargo of negroes, brought 
from Africa, was landed on the coast, near Savannah, 
Georgia. The negroes were immediately sold to planters 
and by them put upon their plantations to work. Unable 
to speak a word of English, ignorant and degraded as it 
was possible for them to be, they were, at the same time, 
docile and obedient, and readily learned to perform the 
duties assigned them. One of them came into the 
possession of my family under the following circum- 
stances : 

One morning Uncle Abram, father's colored manager 
on the plantation, came into the yard leading a very tall 
and exceedingly black negro man, whose hands were tied 
in front of him with a rope, one end of which Abram held. 
Father, mother, little sister Nellie, and myself, met him 
at the steps, where Abram explained that his prisoner 
was Mingo, the African whom our neighbor, Mr. Jenkins, 
had bought some time before, who had run away from 
his master, and been caught in one of father's cotton- 
houses asleep. 

" Why did you tie him ? " asked father, reprovingly. 

" Being a wild African, I was afraid of him, sir," said 
Abram, apologetically. 



148 SELECTIONS. 

Mingo stood leaning against the steps, listless and 
indifferent, and, if understanding the conversation, giving 
no sign of it. 

" Anna," said my father, " I expect the poor creature 
is half starved. Give him some breakfast, and I will take 
him home myself, and see if I can't keep Jenkins from 
being too hard on him. He is a cruel master." 

This man Jenkins had once been father's overseer, 
and dismissed from the plantation for undue severity 
with the negroes. 

Mother went into the house and returned, bringing 
a plate of food. 

"Mingo," she said, going close up to him and speak- 
ing very gently, "I am going to untie this rope, that you 
may eat. You will not try to get away — will you ?" 

Although he probably did not comprehend all she 
said, still the voice, manner, and the food, all indicated 
kindness. With a weary sigh he said, simply : 

"Mingo stay." 

With her own fingers, mother untied the rope ten- 
derly, lest she hurt his bruised wrists, and making him 
sit down, placed the plate of food on his lap and bade 
him eat. The verse her own lips had taught me flashed 
across my mind : "A cup of water in my name to the 
least of these." 

Taking father by the hand, mother led him into the 
house. Through an open window I saw her standing 
before him, her tender eyes suffused with tears, and, like 
Esther before the king, pleading with all her soul for this 
poor member of an oppressed race. Mingo had finished 
eating when they returned, mother's face shining as if an 
angel had touched it. Father, too, looked greatly con- 
cerned. 

"Give Mingo a hoe," he said, "and let him cut down 
those weeds behind the smoke-house while I'm away. 
And mind, Mingo, you are not to get out of sight of the 
house." 

Mingo obediently took the hoe and went to work, 
still showing absolute indifference to everything. 



SELECTIONS. 1 49 

Father mounted his horse, which stood ready saddled 
and rode away, saying : 

"I will do my best, Anna, to gratify you." 

I went into the house to recite my lessons to mother. 
When they were over, she took me by the hand, and, 
carrying her little Bible, led me to the place where Mingo 
was at work. Seating herself upon a bench, she told him 
to put down his hoe, she wished to talk with him. Mingo 
sat down upon a wheelbarrow, folded his hands upon his 
knees, and looked silently at the ground. Just then Nelly 
came flitting across the yard to where we were, her 
clustering curls and soft white dress floating out with the 
rapidity of her movement. She never seemed to walk, 
but to fly, like a bird. As she nestled down by mother, 
Mingo gave a quick look at her, and an expression of 
pleased surprise crept over his stolid face. 

" Mingo," said mother, " did you run away ? " 

'* Yaw," he answered. 

' Why did you do it? Didn't you know you would 
be caught and whipped?" 

" Mingo no mine," he replied, listlessly. 

Mother's face contracted as with pain, but her voice 
was soft as music with sympathy as she continued : 

" Do they treat you badly, Mingo ? " 

" Hurt Mingo's back," he said. " Mingo no mine. 
Mingo's heart hurt ; want to see mudder, brudders," — and 
the great tears came into his eyes. 

I can never forget the expression that came over 
mother's face as she realized that this poor, benighted 
creature, urged by his love of home and mother, had 
actually set out to reach the shores of Africa that he 
might be with them. 

" Mingo," she said gently, " did you ever hear of 
God, of Jesus, of heaven ? " 

He shook his head vaguely in response to each ques- 
tion. Simply, as if talking to a child, she told him the 
story of his creation, of God's great love for him, of 
Christ's death that he might live ; she pictured to his 
darkened mind heaven and the angels. At last, opening 



1 50 SELECTIONS. 

her Bible, she read to him verse after verse from Revela- 
tion, closing with the words : "And God shall wipe away- 
all tears from their eyes ; and there shall be no more 
death, neither sorrow nor crying; neither shall there be 
any more pain." 

Shutting the book, she looked up into his face. The 
tears were flowing down his dusky cheeks. 

Suddenly Nelly sprang from mother's side, and, run- 
ning up to him, put her hand into her pocket, and, taking 
out her mite of a handkerchief, reached up and wiped the 
tears from his eyes and cheeks. I was frightened, and 
sprang forward to draw her back ; for, like Abram, I had 
a terror of the wild African, but mother held me back, 
saying : 

" Be still, Robert ! " 

Mingo slowly unclasped his hands and put them 
behind him, as though he feared to touch something 
sacred. 

" Lilly gal angel ? " he asked, looking wistfully into 
mother's face. 

"No," she answered, smiling through her tears. 

"Look laik angel," continued Mingo, gazing at Nelly 
with awe and admiration. 

"Come, Nelly," said mother; "we will go to the house 
now." 

She turned away, deeply touched. Nelly smiled into 
the black face above her, and said : 

"Nelly sorry for Mingo. Keep Nelly's handkerchief 
to wipe his eyes." 

Putting the handkerchief into his hand, she ran 
away to the house. 

Father returned soon after. Looking into mother's 
happy face, he said; 

"Yes, my dear, I have bought Mingo. Jenkins said 
he was glad to get rid of him. Now, what will you do 
with him ? He is your property, and I wash my hands 
of him." 

"I'll accept the responsibility," cried mother, delight- 
edly. 



SELECTIONS. 151 

Mingo was called up and told the change in his con- 
dition. The full meaning of it dawned upon him slowly. 
When at last he realized it, he fell at mother's feet, 
clasped his hands, and, with tears and laughter, cried out: 
"Whip Mingo! Starve Mingo! Mingo no run 'way. 
Lib wid pritty lady and lilly gal, hear 'bout God, 'bout 
Jesus." 

So Mingo became our slave. His devotion to mother 
and Nelly was extreme, and not long after his purchase 
he was the means of saving them from almost certain 
death The horses drawing the light carriage in which 
they were driving became frightened, and dashed head- 
long towards a long narrow bridge spanning a deep creek. 
Mingo was in a field near by, picking cotton with other 
negroes. He rushed to the rescue, and, seizing the 
horses by the bridles, brought them to a sudden stop. 
Trampled beneath the horses' feet, he received an ugly 
cut in his face and a bad cut in his hip, but he kept his 
hold until other assistance came. In an unconscious con- 
dition he was carried home. As soon as he opened his 
eyes and saw mother bending tearfully over him, he asked: 
"Mistis an' lilly gal no hurt?" 

Assured that they were safe he smiled and never 
alluded to the occurrence again. 

Mother nursed him faithfully — read to him, prayed 
with him, her whole soul absorbed with the desire for 
his salvation, Nelly all the while flitting around his bed 
like a white dove. The cuts healed, and he was well, 
except for a slight lameness, which never left him; and 
he was afterwards kept about the yard, to do such light 
work as wood-chopping and gardening. He never grew 
out of the simplicity of childhood. 

One day, not long after his illness, he told mother 
he wished to be baptised and join the church. Father 
had upon the plantation a church, in which an ordained 
minister of the gospel preached to the negroes. On the 
Sundays when he was absent, mother was accustomed to 
go to the church, taking Nelly and myself with her, and 
read and sing with such of the negroes as wished to come. 



152 SELECTIONS. 

Mingo was always present, sitting very close to mother, 
very quiet and attentive. After he expressed a desire 
for baptism, at the next coming of the minister it was 
attended to. He objected to any change in his name, 
saying : 

"Maybe meet mudder in hebben. Mudder know 
Mingo. No know new name." 

So he stood up before the minister, mother beside 
him, helping him to answer the questions, while Nelly 
held to her hand. The water was poured upon his bowed 
head as he humbly promised to be Christ's faithful 
servant. 

With the close of the war came a great change. Father 
died, and the plantation went to ruin for the want of 
proper management. Mother moved to a neighboring 
town, that Nelly and I might go to school. Mingo 
followed us, but we were too poor to keep him; so, by 
mother's advice, he supported himself by hiring to do 
odd jobs, we helping him when he needed it. He came 
constantly to see us, bringing always to Nelly something 
he had picked up in his rambles, — a pretty shell or flower, 
or bright feather from some bird's wing. 

One fearful day little Nelly sickened suddenly and 
died. While she lay in her cofifln, mother, sitting beside 
her, heard the familiar call with which Mingo always 
announced his coming. Going out, she found him at 
the steps, a cluster of pure white lilies, gathered from 
the woods, in his hands. He had not heard of Nelly's 
death, so smiled and looked around mother for a sight 
of her. Not seeing he held up the lilies and said, "Fur 
lilly gal." 

Choking down her sobs, mother led him to the room 
where lay Nelly, with white flowers all about her, asleep 
in death. 

Regardless of those around him, Mingo fell upon his 
knees and gazed long and intently into the sweet, pale 
face; then, looking up at mother, while a heavenly light 
rested upon his scarred and dusky countenance, he 
whispered : 



SELECTIONS. 1 53 

" Lilly gal angel now ? " 

" Yes," sobbed mother. 

" Lib in hebben wid God ? " 

" Yes." 

He arose from his knees, and, laying the lilies rever- 
ently above the little heart, now so still, but which had 
so often bounded at the coming of her humble friend, he 
limped out of the room. 

Mingo's visits to us became rarer after Nelly's death, 
although he still retained his strong love for my mother. 
For several weeks we lost sight of him altogether, when 
one evening a negro man came to tell mother that 
Mingo was very ill, and wished to see her. She went 
immediately and found him hopelessly ill with pneu- 
monia. As she entered the room he looked gratefully 
towards her, and held out a feeble hand. 

" Mingo," said mother, wiping the death-dew from 
his forehead, is there anything I can do for you ? " 

Reaching his hand inside his bosom, Mingo drew out 
a little scrap of something white, and laid it in mother's 
hand.' She opened it. It was the little handkerchief 
with which Nelly had wiped away his tears the day he 
came to us a trembling fugitive. He had treasured it 
through all these long, years. 

" When Mingo go, put it on face," he whispered. 

" Mingo," asked mother, in tears, '* are you ready to 
go?" 

She leaned over him to catch his answer. It came, 
broken and almost inaudible : 

" Mingo no 'fraid, — Mistis tell 'bout God, — 'bout 
Jesus, — 'bout angels, — Mingo b'lieve, — Mingo no go 
home an' see mudder, — go hebben, see lilly angel." 

With a smile upon his face, and looking straight into 
mother's eyes he died 

M. E. Saffold, 
in The Sunday School Times. 



154 SELECTIONS. 

"PSYCHE." 



Sweetheart, I love 3'ou! Can you guess 
One-half the wealth of happiness 

Those little words imph- ? 
Beloved, will 3'ou ever know 
What depths of tenderness below 

My calm demeanor lie ? 

A secret let me whisper, dear; 

Bend low, my lips scarce reach your ear — 

And list a pretty fable; 
Pygmalion, you; a. statue, I; 
Immobile, cold as death I lie 

To live to love unable 

Till you. an ardent lover, woo; 
And look, you; even while you sue, 

Where erst was stone unfeeling — 
Behold a loving creature start — 
A warm, responsive, clinging heart 

Awakes to greet you kneeling ! 

Nay, love, I never lived till now; 

The years have passed, I know not how, 

In truth I little care. 
I only know, a butterfly — 
Erewhile a chrj'salis — am I, 

Sweetheart, since you are near ! 

Ida S. Heidt, in the Age-Herald. 



THE MINISTER'S BUSY DAY. 



Years ago, when railroads were in their infancy, I 
was traveling on horseback through a sparsely settled 
district in South Carolina, when I came to a small village. 
A storehouse or two, a bar-room and an inn formed the 
nucleus of a settlement of very plain, honest, rural people. 
These villagers had been deprived of religious privileges 
for several months, as their pastor had gone to his final 
rest, and they had been unable to supply his place. 



SELECTIONS. 155 

When they learned I was a minister, they requested me 
to preach for them the following day, which was Sunday; 
to this I readily assented. 

After the sermon a young man, ungainly and rustic- 
looking, but with large mournful eyes that had an appeal- 
ing look in them; came to me, and in the uncultured dia- 
lect of the neighborhood, gave me to understand that he 
wished me to preach a funeral sermon for his wife, who 
had been dead some time. As no minister was accessible 
when she died, she had been buried without the usual 
funeral rites. I expressed the sympathy I felt, and 
though 1 was preparing to depart, promised to remain 
over, and appointed an hour for the exercises. 

At the time named I repaired to the church and was 
met by several of the brethren, who asked me to perform 
a marriage ceremony at the conclusion of the funeral 
service. Without asking the names of the parties, I 
entered the church at once. On the front seat with sev- 
eral female relatives — as I inferred from the mourning 
garments — sat the young man with the mournful and 
appealing eyes who had approached me the day before. 
I had procured from him some data in regard to the 
good qualities of his wife, and wove them into my ser- 
mon, making it as affecting as possible. I spoke of the 
brevity of life ; of bereavements being sent for our 
good — that we should accept them as divine dispensations 
and never murmur nor rebel. 

The young man was much affected, as was evidenced 
by the frequent applications of his handkerchief to his 
eyes, and the mourning relatives sniffled audibly. But 
ever and anon my mind reverted to the marriage cere- 
mony to be performed. There is a glamour and interest 
surrounding a prospective marriage that is irresistible, 
and I could not keep my mind entirely on the services I 
was performing. I set my lips together and determined I 
would put the wedding out of my thoughts, but in spite 
of me my mind would revert to the forbidden subject. 

As I neared the end of my discourse I saw a young 
girl, fresh and blooming as a May morning, enter the 



156 SELECTIONS. 

church with an elderly lady and take a seat near the door. 
She was attired in a bright pink dress of some light 
material, and wore a long white veil. I instantly surmised 
that this was the girl whose destiny was soon to be made 
or marred ; but where was the prospective bridegroom ? 
I preached on but failed to see him enter, nor could I 
find any one in the assembly who looked like the conven- 
tional happy man. 

I gave out the final hymn, 

"When waves of trouble o'er us roll," 

but still the tardy groom failed to appear. I wondered if 
the lovely girl — for such she really was — could be doomed 
to disappointment and mortification, and was becoming 
really provoked with the laggard by the time the fourth 
and fifth verses were sung. 

We knelt in prayer and I tried to shut out every- 
thing from my mind but the mournful occasion of the 
mournful meeting. I prayed long and fervently that the 
bereaved husband be given strength to endure, so that 
when the final summons came he would be reunited to 
his loved and lost, where partings are no more. 

When the doxology was sung, and the young man 
with the large eyes, more mournful and more appealing 
than ever, stepped forward and approached me. I 
thought it was to thank me for the feeling remarks I had 
made. Instead he told me that "as preachers were so 
sca'ce in them parts, an' as I was so accommodatin' he 
wished I would do er nother favor fur him." 

I must admit that a look of embarrassment stole over 
his face several times in addressing me, as though he was 
not quite certain I would endorse his course, but with an 
occasional clearing of the throat and the same appealing 
look he proceeded to explain that he was "mighty lone- 
some in the big house by hisself, and that Miss Pinky 
Lou Ogiltree, a near neighbor of his'n," had promised 
to marry him. 



SELECTIONS. 157 

Too much astonished to speak, I assented, I know 
not how, and the hero of the hour stepped down the 
aisle and led to the altar the blooming and blushing 
Miss Pinky. 

I was so disconcerted at the unexpected turn of 
affairs, and my ideas of the eternal fitness of things so 
disturlDed, that when the couple stood before me, I 
started out with, "Man that is born of woman is of few 
days and full of trouble," but merged it quickly into the 
orthodox marriage ceremony. 

I have always been a firm believer in the ef^cacy 
of prayer, but I confess consolation had come to my 
young friend sooner than I expected, and that the 
strength to endure and rise superior to affliction which I 
had so fervently prayed for, was vouchsafed in an unex- 
pected and marvelous degree. 

Belle R. Harrison, 

in Kate Field's Washington. 



A DOMESTIC TRAGEDY. 



During the early spring, when the crocuses had just 
pushed their golden heads above the cold, damp earth, 
I looked out of my window one day and saw that a very 
neatly dressed little carpenter was preparing to build a 
cosy cottage. His clothes were not at all soiled and he 
did not seem negligent about them, as a great many 
workmen unfortunately are. He wore a pretty suit of a 
color in which blue and gray were blended, around his 
throat was tied a dark cravat, on his head sat the jaunti- 
est cap you ever saw, while from the pocket of his coat 
peeped the whitest and daintiest of handkerchiefs. 

He seemed to understand his business so well that I 
thought he must be a carpenter by trade. But when I 
saw how steadily he worked in all kinds of weather, and 



158 SELECTIONS. 

how cheerily he sung, I concluded that his wedding day 
was set, and that it was his own little home he was 
building. 

My neighbor and I grew to be great friends, and 
every time I threw open my window I would nod to him 
and he would nod back, and sometimes we would 
exchange a few words as he went on with his work. 

I had been noticing for several days that my little 
builder's task was almost done, when one evening he 
shook his head very saucily as he went away, as if to say, 
" you can't imagine where I am off to now." 

I was greatly surprised the next morning to see my little 
friend stepping about in his yard as usual. I was on the 
point of shutting my window without speaking for the 
first time since we had become acquainted. I was angry 
with my neighbor, for he had destroyed my plans for his 
happiness and spoiled a pretty romance. 

But just as these ugly thoughts came into my mind, 
sure enough, a lovely little bride stepped out of the door 
and the frowns on my brow faded away as they kissed 
one another good morning. Like the sensible fellow that 
he was, my friend had given his bride a pretty cottage 
instead of a bridal trip, and had brought her directly 
home. 

He looked up to my window and bowed with such 
a pleased smile that I understood him at once to mean 
"Isn't she pretty?" So I bowed and smiled back, threw 
them a kiss and shut my window, that they might have 
their caresses all to themselves. 

I thought that my little lady did not know much 
about housekeeping as yet, and the pantry is something 
that the most provident of men do not know how to fill, 
so I sent them over what I fancied they would like for 
dinner. 

I was more than repaid by watching the happiness 
that dwelt in that home as the days went by. It is true 
that it was only an humble cottage and that my neighbors 
lived with the utmost simplicity, but small as their cot- 



SELECTIONS. I 59 

tage was it was large enough to hold the "greatest thing 
in the world." 

After awhile I heard little voices in the cottage over 
the way, and then the proud parents seemed happier than 
ever, if that were possible. Every morning the father 
went away to provide for their wants, coming back only 
late in the afternoon. All day the good mother tended 
her little ones at home, except now and then when com- 
pelled to go on an errand. And when she was obliged to 
be away she would look in at my window as if to ask me 
to have an eye on her tots during her absence. 

At one time I went away on a visit, and while I was 
gone I was often very uneasy about my good neighbors. 
I had so often seen distress and misfortune shut the 
light out of happy homes, that I could not help fearing 
now and then that the friends I had left behind might 
not be exempt from the common lot. 

However, I was delighted upon my return to find 
that the sun was shining as brightly as ever on the lattice 
of their ivy-covered cottage, and that all went as merrily 
as ever both indoors and out. 

One afternoon, a few days after my return, I was 
suddenly aroused from my usual siesta by the shrillest 
cries of agony I had ever heard from the pained heart 
and aching throat of a living creature. I rushed to the 
window, and lo ! the cosy little house had been destroyed 
to its very foundations, the three little ones lay upon 
the grass in the painless twitchings of death, one of the 
distroyers of this home had choked the mother until she 
could cry no more and the other was striking with a 
stick at the father, who was trying to avenge the destruc- 
tion of his home and the death of his family. 

Before I could rush to his assistance a well aimed 
blow had crushed his life out. 

Ah, little friend, it was better that you should yield 
up your spirit thus, on the ruins of your home ! Thence- 
forth it would have been but a mockery of your brief 
happiness. 



l6o SELECTIONS. 

The ruthless — perhaps thoughtless — perpetrators of 
the crime ran away at my coming, and I could only sit 
down alone and look through my tears at the dead bodies 
of my little friends that I had loved so dearly and should 
miss so sorely ! 

I gave them a quiet and decent burial and left them 
to their innocent sleep under the daisies. 



I wonder if the readers of this simple story have 
guessed that my happy little neighbors were birds, and 
that their destroyers were two of those misguided, if not 
cruel boys, that think it great fun to rob birds' nests ! 

I cannot believe that any member of the Eight 
O'clock Club would be guilty of so heartless a deed. 

Edelweiss, (M. LaF. R.) 
in Philadelphia Times. 



AT DAWN. 



To-da}', upon the shores of time, a shell 

Out from Eternity's vast deep is hurled 
Bearing from out the surge, and roar, and swell 

A mystic music of the spheres enwhorled. 

Surely when closely pressed for all its song. 

Amid its notes of elemental war — 
Dead moons, and growing worlds, life, death, right, wrong — 
Some strain of '• Peace be still" will sound afar. 

Martha Young, 
in New York Home Journal. 



ABOUT WOMEN. 



Society is as "fickle as a changeful dream," and in 
the marriageable age, as in other things, custom has 
passed under the wave of new impulse. Mere girls and 
boys were many of those, who in the past were pushed 
forward into responsible positions in life At an age 
when girls of the present time are still in the school 



SELECTIONS. l6l 

room our American grandmothers were entering into 
social enjoyment, and often married at fifteen, sometimes 
sooner. Thus early assuming the grave responsibilities 
of life, they were relegated to caps and knitting work at 
thirty-five and forty, and ended their career at an age 
when women of today feel that life is opening for them 
broader fields of usefulness and enjoyment. Statesmen 
at home and abroad stepped early into the arena in those 
days. Alexander Hamilton and Charles James Fox 
were beardless youths, under twenty, when one was 
listened to by the New York populace, the other by gray 
heads in the house, while Fox's rival, the younger Pitt, 
began his brilliant career as statesman when only a little 
older. 

At what period our sisters across the sea were con- 
sidered ancient, I dare not say. One great man speaks 
of thirty-three as the ideal age, the fascinating period in a 
woman's life, when she reaches the full development of 
her powers of mind and body. Thirty-three was the time 
at which Frau Von Stein proved dangerous to the heart 
of the poet who had survived her more youthful charms. 
Another man declares that the woman of forty is as dan- 
gerous as she is fascinating, then she understands how to 
exercise her gifts and charms in the most effective m.anner, 
and that luxuriant nature in the infinite plentitudeof her 
goodness, has bequeathed to man naught else so intoxi- 
cating and incomparable as the woman of forty. Ninon 
de I'Enclos was fifty-six when she inspired Marquis de 
Sevigne with his romantic passion, was seventy when she 
made the conquest of Baron de Benier of Swedish roy- 
alty, and eighty when she achieved the better known vic- 
tory over the heart of Abbe Gedoyn, a young Jesuit. 

Now a word about woman's brain. There is a fair 
specimen of reasoning to prove that the intellectual facul- 
ties of women are equal to men, but it is far from con- 
clusive. History of every period and every people fur- 
nishes some few extraordinary women who have soared 
above all disadvantages, and shown in the different char- 
acters which render men eminent and conspicuous. 



l63 SELECTIONS. 

Assyria furnished a Semiramis, Palmyra a Zenobia, Egypt 
a Cleopatra-famous for heroism, for skill m government 
and personal charms, and each had passed their teens 
before she reached the zenith of power. Many are em- 
balmed in the pages of Grecian and Roman history who 
set examples of courage and fortitude. Germany and 
England have exhibited queens whose talents in the field 
or in the cabinet would have done honor to either sex; 
and our own country can bpast at this moment of females 
whose achievements in literature, at the bar and in he 
oulpit have gained them a reputation equal almost to the 
most distinguished men of the age^ But nature has in 
general assigned to the female a different sphere and to 
herself a different calling from "^^"'^"^j^f %^f,^^^^!"l^, 
when the women of America knew and kept the place 
for which nature intended them. 

Dear glorious grandmothers ! Women did not then 
have a voice in the control of public charities, on hos- 
oital boards; they had not dreamed of a solution of tae 
Tue tion of pauperism, the Indian question had not come 
up tliere were no "health talks," and the idea of a woman 
studying anatomy and physiology and having an under- 
standing of the functions of that wonderful piece of 
r^echanism, her body, would have been con d red 
hiehly improper, and for her to live m the vortex of 
sSy, a married flirt, indecent. Then the last and 
terrible plague-municipal woman's suffrage-had not 
nvaded home, to separate family ties, to make women 
neglect their home and their babies, to degrade the name 
o? woman ! One man formulated in a clever fashion the 
nopular feeling of the present day when he said A 

ToCn preachig is like a dog's walking on its hind legs 
it is seldom well, but you are surprised to find it done 

^^ ^ When we compare the typical American girls pale 
slender fragile creatures, with narrow blue-veined hands, 
hollow eyes^ and languid movements, with the pictures 
o?our grandmothers, we are struck by the contrast. We 
can well believe that these women at forty could have 



SELECTIONS. 163 

boasted as much hair as the present girl at twenty; bet- 
ter teeth, a fresher complexion, and twice as much mus- 
cle and nerve, and must have been creatures one would 
like to meet. These grandmothers were good and 
pretty, intelligent and domestic; who "looked well to 
their household" and accomplished marvels of preserv- 
ing, pickling and elegant needle work. They did what 
their hands found to do in the line of charity; were ele- 
gant and proper in deportment, with alluring and inde- 
scnable sweetness of manner, possessing that intuitive 
and ready perception which made them adapt themselves 
to any circumstance. They made their homes a heaven 
of peace and happiness, and— to their eternal honor- 
were faithful wives, dutiful daughters and the tenderest 
mothers. In the time of danger, in hours of the sever- 
est trials, the souls of these women, in beautiful contrast 
with their physical weakness, shone brightest and 
strongest— a soul by which they were qualified for their 
great mission on earth. 

Endowed with the milder virtues and those crraces 
which are calculated to cheer and soften and humanize 
the rougher sex, woman is eminently fitted by her 
organization to fulfill her destiny and shed the light of 
love and happiness over a degenerate race. A higher 

^fM^"5f/^^^ ^°''^^ "°^ ^^^^''" ^ ^°ft^^^ sphere she could ''not 
nil ! May woman ever feel, that herein lies her highest 
glory— that this constitutes her noblest aim. 

Minnie Reese Richardson, 

in The A^e-Herald. 



THE FIN DE SIECLE GIRL. 



She has quite an admiration 
For a college education, 

And has learned of wisdom all she needs to know • 
She can trip the latest dances, ' 

She can cast the sweetest glances, 

And she never, never fails to have a beau. 



l64 SELECTIONS. 

She excels in opera singing, 

She is skilled in dumb-bell swinging. 

All instruments she plays— whiche'er you please — 
She can shoot with gun or arrow, 
She can break a bank at faro. 

She can row a boat, and swim with greatest ease. 

She can drive a two horse tandem. 
She can drive a coach at random. 

And at fencing, golf, and tennis she's expert. 
She can ride a two-wheel cycle, 
And in love she's never fickle — 

Though she is coquettish and dearly loves to flirt. 

She can beat a man at walking. 
She can beat a man at talking, 

She can beat his style of wearing coat and hat; 
Yet she dons bewitching dresses. 
And a magic charm possesses. 

And her eyes make many hearts go pit-a-pat. 

She can cook most toothsome dishes. 
She can do most all she wishes. 

But she's one desire which still seems far remote; 
So her fate she is bewailing, 
And the law she is assailing, 

For she cannot run for President, nor vote. 

Clara R. Jamison, in Montgomery Advertiser. 



WOMAN IN PHILANTHROPY. 



This is, in a certain sense, the age of woman. She 
has discovered herself en masse, her powers, as well as 
her limitations, and there is no danger that she will hide 
her Hght under a bushel. For years the clear eye and 
keen vision has seen that she only needed the opportunity 
to become a positive factor along all the lines of purity 
and progress in true national development. We hear much 
to-day of the new woman. I do not think there is a New 
Woman. Intrinsically she is the same, only as has been 
said, " She has stepped down out of her glass case." 



SELECTIONS. igr 

All that was best in the old life, has only been joined 
to new aspirations, new hopes, newjcourage, as she has 
realized that she has a legitimate part to play towards a 
universal end. But that end is not political. No ' a 
thousand times No ! 

.There are two great high roads to civilization, and 
along one of them woman has, for centuries, made her 
unerring way, and has made it blossom like the path to 
Heaven. I mean philanthropy in its deepest and broad- 
est sense; philanthropy as applied to practical charity 
to prison and asylum reform ; to education ; to church 
work among the poor, the degraded, the heathen. More 
than m the past, a field as wide as earth and Heaven 
opens along these lines to the woman who wants to leave 
an impress for good on her age. 

r.-n.r^^ "f^"^ "°^ ^'f ^' ^^ ^">^ ^^"^th, the gradual eman- 
cipation of woman from the darkness and slavery that 
was once her portion With the advent, light dawned for 
her, and during Christ s earthly ministry, her faithful devo- 
tion to Him and His cause shines out with an unfadine 
glory. => 

Some one has said, "the new life had hardly begun 
before there blossomed out of that dark and gloomy soil 
some of the finest and saintliest characters the world has 
ever known The "honorable women of Thessolonica," 
Lydia at Phil ipi, Damaris, Dorcas, '-full of good works 
and alms deeds, which she did," and many others adorn 
the pages of sacred history. The poor Samaritan woman 
received from the Saviour Himself the story of His won- 
drous mission. Women followed Him to the Cross, and 
His first message after He had risen from the grave, 
<jo tell the brethren," was given to them. 

INFLUENCE IN CHURCH HISTORY. 
Later, we find in church history, a luminous milky- 
way of women, who shed a starry influence over their 
times. The mothers of Bernard, Hlldegarde, Heloise, 
mothers and teachers, exerted a wide influence for good in 
the darkest periods of the Middle Ages, and the record 



1 56 SELECTIONS. 

of the impress made on Chrysostom by Anthusa, on 
Basil bv Emmelia; on Augustine by Monica; on Gregory 
by Nonna, goes to show how, in a quiet way, the women 
of the past moulded the age in which they live. When 
Libanus, the brilliant teacher of Chrysostom, met his 
mother and sisters, he is said to have exclaimed, "What 
women these Christians have !" 

PHILANTHROPY IN MISSIONS. 

In philanthropy, as covering missionary work in 
heathen lands or in home fields, nothing can be found 
superior to the intelligent devotion and self abnegation of 
woman. Her heroism in the midst of the dangers, the 
loneliness, the discouragements of work in foreign lands 
need not be repeated. It is a sublime Story that is 
repeating itself day by day. No finer illustration of 
woman's power in Christian philanthropy can be found 
than in the work of the Salvation Army. It has been 
said that it is the modern fulfillment of the parable of 
the Good Samaritan, "That its philanthropy is religi- 
ous, and its religion is philanthropic." All know that 
the germ of this great work lay in the inspired heart of 
General Booth's wife, and that to-day the beautiful and 
gifted Mrs. Ballington Booth is its life and inspiration. 

CHARITY IN MODERN TIMES. 

For practical charity in modern times woman has 
shown a peculiar fitness. Her singleness of purpose js 
never doubted. She has no axe to grind; no ofifice in 
view, and uo political preferment to be attained. Then, 
too, she brings to this wide field a delicate sympathy 
that, is life-giving, and a beneficence that is not profes- 
sional. She comes to feel a personal friendship for the 
poor that makes her endeavor to lift them, soul and body, 
and spirit, into a higher life. Ruskin says that men will do 
everything for the poor except to consider them. This 
is not true of women. When they go on their errands of 
mercy it is love, and not simple justice, that impels them, 



SELECTIONS. 1 67 

and with a tender insight they recognize the good that 
may linger in sin-weary lives, and give heart and hope 
for new efforts. 

ORIGIN OF PHILANTHROPY. 

Most of the great practical philanthropic movements 
of the world had their origin in the hearts of women. 
The prison doors that were opened wide by John Howard, 
were first moved by his wife's influence. Elizabeth Fry 
begun the great work of Asylum and Prison Reform in 
England; her influence spread around the world and 
brought into being the greatest of modern charities, the 
Training School for Nurses, established by Fliedner, at 
Kaiserworth. 

On this side of the water in 1802, Dorothea Dix 
began her self-abnegating mission in behalf of dethroned 
reason. Soon, under a newly awakened public conscience, 
the barbarous system that prevailed in the management 
of asylums, jails, and aim-houses was radically changed 
all over the civilized world. 

We all know how the war hospitals of all lands were 
revolutionized by Florence Nightingale, and the work- 
house wards made over through the efforts of Agnes 
Jones. 

In this beautiful service of trained nursing in this 
day, the Florence Nightingale* and Sister Doras are 
multiplied as the sands of the sea, and women, gifted in 
mind and heart, pursue their high and holy calling in 
behalf of afflicted humanity with an unselfish devotion 
beyond all praise. Father Damien's assistant in the 
Sandwich Islands was a young and cultured woman, and in 
far-off ice-bound Siberia, a woman singly and alone, has 
ministered to the plague-stricken among the lepers. 

PHILANTHROPY IN EDUCATION. 

Of woman's philanthropic work in education; in 
helping those who are helping themselves ; in cheering 
the lonely, and finding in ordinary social life the oppor- 
tunities for inspiring the weary and way-worn, I have not 



id8 selections. 

space to speak ; nor of her highest and finest work, which 
is in the home. There the root of all the blossoms of 
love and charity lie imbedded, and therein the lever 
with which, rightly applied, she can move this old, weary, 
sin-sick world to a higher plane, politically and morally. 
Do you recall Wordsworth's lines? They were 
written of Milton, but they apply to the true woman. 

" Thj soul was as a star and dwelt apart ; 

Thou hads't a voice whose sound was like the sea ; 

Pure as the naked heavens, majestic free, 

So dids't thou travel on life's common way, 

In cheerful godliness ; and yet thy heart, 

The lowliest duties on itself did la}'." 

Frederick W. Robertson has beautifully said : "Trust 
me, a noble woman laying on herself the duties of her sex, 
while fit for higher things ; the world has nothing to 
show more like the Son of Man than that. 

Mrs. George B. Eager, 
tn Richmond Times- Woman s Edition. 



RUSTICALITIES. 



We had moved into the country. Not only had we 
moved our physical beings and our belongings, but we 
had also brought the breath of the city in our inner con- 
sciousness. Coming into the very heart of nature, in the 
midst of dwellers thereof, there were interesting scenes 
and studies, from the contrasts of ideas, absorbed in 
varying associations. 

Quite an interested group of natives was gathered at 
the depot when we arrived. A freight train a few hours 
previously had deposited all our effects on the platform. 

Some grave subject of debate is agitating the inhab- 
itants. They are arguing, betting and protesting. At 
last in front of the tiny cottage, which is to be our abode. 



SELECTIONS. 169 

the cause of the popular agitation becomes apparent. 
They are excited over the problem as to how we are ever 
croing to get our belongings into so small a house. The 
difficulty appeals to myself. I look at the line of wagons 
piled up with trunks and furniture. Then I look at the 
miniature dwelling. But my hopes revive ; and the now 
general discussion is ended by the conclusive remark of 
a patriarchal old darkey sitting under a tree : 

" 'Tain't no use argufyin' 'bout all dat ar furniture 
gettin' inter dat leetle house. I dun see dat white lady 
a-comin' an' a-stompin' down de road ; an' de way she 
step out, I jes' know all dat truck is gwine to git into dat 
house somehow or udder. I jes' know hits gwine to be 
dun ; an' I'se settin' here to see which er way she gwine 
to do hit." 

I then proceeded vigorously to deserve this delicate 
compliment to my energetic appearance. I had brought 
with me from my town a colored girl who promised to 
remain a month. As she said : 

"I ain't gwine to leave you Miss Leany, tell you gits 
a girl." 

One morning while my particular cook lady was 
washing vegetables at the well, and several wash ladies 
were congregated around, the subject of this successor 
was brought up. Scraps of the conversation reached me 
as I sat rocking the baby to mid-day sleep. 

"You see," said Maria, talking quite properly, as a 
colored lady from the city should, in presence of country 
darkies, "Miss Leaney, she aint no ways hard to please." 

"Dese yere town folkses is all biggoty," declares an 
Amazonian wash lady. 

"Well," Miss Leany, she ain't a bit biggoty." I felt 
relieved to be declared innocent of this crime in country 
eyes. 

"Same time you can't go too fur wif Miss Leany. 
She are this way : Long as you goes along and does 
putty well. Miss Leany ain't carin', but when she see you 
a-tryin' to shirk and not tryin' to do, then, like as not she 



170 SELECTIONS. 

han' you yo' money an' say you ain't de kind of a gal she 
need." I smiled at this characteristic description. 

"Well, Maria," I inquired a few days after, "How are 
you getting along about finding me a girl?" 

"Well, Miss Leany, I thinks dat's all right. I dun 
pronounce it 'roun' dat you is a good white lady to live 
wif. An' de preacher he dun pronounce it from de pul- 
pet, what you wants a girl, an' he ax ef any of de mem- 
bers can give you a rek'mendation, and Cousin Nervy 
Scrubbs she riz up and say what Cousin Maria Higgins, 
dat's me, dun live three years wif dis yere lady an' dun 
fin' her a real passable, good white lady. Den de preacher 
he extort de sisters dey look out fur dis yere place, 'case 
Sister Scrubbs and our visitin' member. Sister Higgins, 
dun give de lady a good rek'mendation." 



At last I selected a slim, tidy girl, black and shiny of 
visage, with a perpetual grin and an incessant chuckle of 
satisfaction at everything. 

"Partheny Ruggles is my name. I was named outen 
de Scriptures." 

But Parthenia's qualities were purely social and not 
domestic. As an entertainer she was a great success. 
As a worker a dismal failure. So happy were she and 
my little brood together, that I scarcely had the heart to 
break off the recitals of how ' Brandy Coon dun run 
away," and " De . country gal come aplowin' down de 
road. Take yo' foot out de sand an' stick it in de mud," 
and other legends of rural life, by mentioning the 
uncooked dinner, the unswept rooms and other harrow- 
ing subjects. So it resolved itself into my doing the 
work and Parthenia encouraging me thereto ; " I jes' does 
love to see you wuk. Miss Leany. You is sho' plum peart 
a-wukin'; an' yo sho' can hustle roun'." 

Parthenia, though young in years, was a great local 
historian, a chronicler of all events past and present, in 
the settlement. So diverting was she, in her recitals, that 



SELECTIONS. I/I 

I often became as much amused as the children, and 
would pause in my rounds of "hustlin'" to listen and 
to laugh. 

" Miss Leany, does you know dem Wittleses w'at 
lives down de road." 

I acknowledged a slight acquaintance. 

" Well, day sho' is cur'us white folks to live wif." 

"Curious! How?" I inquired, calling to mind the 
polite, dignified family. 

" Well, dey jes' want you to wuk an' to wuk.' 

" Well," I said laughingly, "that would certainly be 
curious to expect of you, Parthenia." 

" Now, pshaw ! Miss Leany, I knows I ain't got 
much wuk in my bones, my own granny say dat herself ; 
but, Miss Leany, when I was stayin' down dar, at de 
Witlesses, I sho' did have to wuk." 

"I am certainly glad to hear it." 

"But law! Miss Leany, does you love gophers?" 

"I am mildly addicted to them," I replied. 

Parthenia laughed merrily. "An' mack'el fish. You 
sho' don't love dem mack'el fish, does you, Miss Leany ?" 
She hung anxiously on my answer. 

"No, Parthenia; mackerel and I are not very good 
friends." 

"I sho' is glad. Law me ! Miss Leany, when I was 
a stayin' down to de Wittleses, dey jes' plum beat me out 
wif gophers an' mack'el fish. When I see dat lame niggah 
Josh a plowin' up de road, wif a cyart jes' a crawlin full 
of dem critters, I lets out a groan ; case I knows Miss 
Lucretia gwine to buy de hull lot and somebody got to 
eat em. 'What's de matter, Parthenia?' ax Miss Lucretia, 
a countin de forkses and spoons. 'Is you got a pain ?' 
'Yes, ma'am,* 1 says ; and I sho was stressted 'bout hear- 
ing dat cyart full of gophers. Sho' nuff. Miss Lucretia, 
she buy de hull cyart full ; an' we turn dem gophers loose 
on de floor of de feed house. Next morning old Lijah, 
what can't scarcely tow hissclf an' his rheumatiz, goes a 
rollin' his wheelbarrow to de train. 'Gwine to get some 
town victuals,' I says, an* jes' larfs to myself. 'What's 



172 SELECTIONS. 

you got, Uncle Lijah?' I ax. 'A barr'l of mack'el fish, 
he say, short and mad like. 'Good Lawd !' I groans to 
myself, 'a houseful of gophers an' a barr'l of mack'el and 
somebody got to eat 'em.' Law ! Miss Leany, ef you jes' 
cud a heerd dem gophers a dancin' an' a scuffin' in dat 
house. I useter to lie awake nights and hear dem critters 
a dancin' up an' down, right han' cross, swing yo' partner, 
all hans roun' an' cross over all, tell I t'inks I can smell 
dem mack'els a swimmin' in de barr'l an' I jes' groans an' 
groans : 'A houseful of gophers and a barr'l of mack'el 
fish and nuffin' else fur dis yere nigger to eat,' " 

There had been a new jail built in the settlement. 
A corporation was formed with a council and a mayor. 
Hitherto all disturbers of the peace had been carried to 
the county seat for trial. Now all that was necessary for 
the dignity of the new corporation was that somebody 
should break a law, be tried, and committed to the new 
and as yet unoccupied jail. Two obliging colored gen- 
tlemen became involved in a dispute over " craps," a 
difference of fifteen cents in computation. The verbal 
arguments were followed by the unfailing logic of the 
darkey — the razor. Some blood was shed. With great 
show of authority they were arrested, and next morning 
the trial was held. The entire settlement suspended 
business to attend. The wealthier of the combatants 
was fined ten dollars and the costs of court. The 
impecunious one was also fined ten dollars. No personal 
funds being available and no substantial friend or bonds- 
man appearing, he was, with great ceremony, escorted by 
the entire population to the jail. But here a new problem 
confronted the authorities. I can best describe it in 
Parthenia's Language. She burst in upon me next 
morning ; 

"Law! Miss Leany, dem white gemmen dun tu'n 
Bill Saunders loose outen de jail. 

" Yes ? " I said. 

" You see, Miss Leany, dey dun fine dat niggah ten 
dollars. Now, whar in de kingdom is dat no 'count 
triflin' niggah ever gwine raise ten dollars at one pop ? 



SELECTIONS. 1 73 

'Stay in de jail ten days,' says Mr. Ma'ar. "All right,' 
says Bill. ' I aint got no money, an' I'se gwine to wallow 
in de jail ten days. Jes* put me dar an' I'll hog it out. 
Well, dey taken him to de jail, an' den de Ma'ar, he say 
to de Marshal, ' Yo cee dat Bill is fed an' has proper bed- 
din'.' 'Yes, sah,' says de Marshal, ' and who's gwine 
pay for Bill's ten day's feedin'.'* ' 'Why de copp'ration, in 
course,' says de Ma'ar. ' Yes, sah,' says de Marshal, 'but 
dere aint but seven dollars in de treasury, and I dun 
garn'shee dat fur de ten dollars what de copp'ration owes 
me on my salary. Well, Miss Leany, dey jes' argufy an' 
dey talk, and nobody gwine to feed dat niggah ten days, 
he's a awful feeder. Bill is, an' nobody gwine be 'sponsi- 
ble fur he feed, an' so Mr. Ma'ar, he jes' say ; Well, tun 
'm loose. He can't stay in da ten days 'thouten any 
victuals. An' dat triflin Bill was lyin' down plum happy 
an' sleepin', when dey call 'im to come out, and dat 
darkey ain't got over bein' stressted yet, 'bout losin' dem 
ten days' free feedin'," 



" Parthenia," I said one morning when a suggestion 
of frost made me look uneasily at the dwindling wood- 
pile, " I want to have some more wood cut." 

" Law, Miss Leany ! lemme go fotch Elder Ephraim. 
He is sho plum good at cuttin' wood." 

In a little while she returned with a muscular young 
colored man. 

" Da now, Brer Ephraim, da is the wud and da is 
de axe ; and hustle 'roun', "case dey ain't scasely wud fur 
de dinner. Miss Leany, dis yere is Elder Ephraim 
Jordan. He's a preacher. Brer Ephraim is, but he ain't 
got no call as yet to preach." 

The " uncalled" acknowledged the introduction by 
laying off his brimless hat and saying : " Yo' servant 
ma'am, an' I hopes yo' is gwine to let me cut all de 
winter's wood." In the confidence of the sitting room 
Parthenia explains : 



174 SELECTIONS. 

" Brer Ephraim, he ain't no sho nuff preacher. He's 
jes' a local ; but all we members, we jes' calls him Elder 
Ephraim, 'case he was so sot on gittin' a call to preach." 

"Well, Parthenia, Elder Ephraim is a first class wood- 
cutter." I was contemplating the goodly pile of fire- 
wood left by the " uncalled." " If he can preach as well 
as he can cut wood, I do not see why he does not get a 
call." 

Parthenia chuckled merrily a moment, then says 
with great superiority : 

" He ain't no ways of a preacher Miss Leany. Why 
I dun herd his trial sermunt." 

" Was it a great trial to you, Parthenia ?" 

She scorned to notice this poor little joke. 

" No, ma'am, it warn't no great trial no ways. Jes' 
a poor, missa'ble no 'count sermunt. When he got fru, 
we members couldn't tell what we wus, ef we must shout 
glory, or go a seekin', or jes riz up and fin- de mourners' 
bench. An' when dey cum to read dat sermunt, dem 
town preachers what wuss dar, da was two words what 
Elder Ephriam cudn't no ways spell." 

"What were they?" I inquired, wondering what 
unrelenting theological term had tripped poor Ephraim. 

" Dey wus jes' biscuits and coffee; and you know 
Miss Leany, a preacher what can't spell dem words ain't 
never got no call to preach." 

"Who is your friend, Parthenia?" I inquired, as a 
stylish looking colored man lifted his shiny beaver hat to 
my maid, as he passed the gate. 

"Dat's a bishop. Miss Leany. Bishop Calloway. He 
dun preach last night. Miss Leany, dem bishops dey sho 
is sassy, now ain't dey?" 

"Indeed, are they, Parthenia?" I asked, amused at 
this novel criticism of a dignified office. 

"Dey Sho'ly is. Wy dem bishops dey wears all the 
good clothes and shiny hats dey can get and dey jes' gits 
up in de pulpit and sasses de hull church full ; and de 
members bleeged to take it, bleeged to stand it, 'ceptin' 
dey leaves de meetin' or falls down in a fit, same as Sister 



SELECTIONS. 175 

Emmeline, an' all de brudders a puffin' an' a blowin' — 
'case Sister Emmeline, she was awful fat, she was, to tote 
— dat bishop he gets outen de pulpit right peart and plum 
scart, 'case he thought it was a risin' of de members 
'gainst his sassin' dem any more. Miss Leany, you ain't 
nebber see Sister Emmeline Flinders? No, in course you 
ain't. She dun dead mosten two years. She war sholy 
fat, was Sister Emmeline. She warn't no reg'lar church 
member an' de members was plum, mad at her, a comin' 
dat night an' a havin' a fit an' a-makin dem brudders tote 
her out, an' it was sholy hot dat night. Sister Emmeline 
didn't b'long to no sassiety an' w'en she died she was 
buried like a pawpus." 

"Like a porpoise?" I asked. "You mean she looked 
like a porpoise ?" 

"No, ma'am. She dun look good enough. De sis- 
ters lay her out. But she ain't got no buryin' funds m de 
sassiety, and she been buried by s'cription, jes' like a 
pawpus." 

"O ! }'ou mean like a pauper," I said. 

"Yes, ma'am. Miss Leany," the little darkey solemnly 
answered, all unconscious of the pun she had made in 
describing the burial of the fat sister — "like a pawpus." 

When Parthenia left, her place was filled by a stolid 
country darkey, who was a great contrast to that enter- 
taining young person. Our new domestic, Lavinia, was 
as nearly dumb as one with the gift of speech could be. 
She might almost have been a female Trappist, such 
silence as she observed. She never spoke but from the 
most absolute necessity. 

But what a cook she was ! I think in those long, 
silent meditations of hers she must have received culinary 
inspirations, so full of genius was her cooking. Only 
once I saw her moved out of her stolidity. Every day 
at the dinner hour, she would appear at the sitting room 
door. Her lips would move, but no sound came. I 
grew to understand that she meant the meal was served. 

One day she came, as usual, to the door. 



176 SELECTIONS. 

"All right. Lavinia," I said, "I will come in a minute. 
I want to finish this little piece of sewing." 

She still stood, her lips moving a little faster, but no 
sound could I hear. 

Seeing me calmly continue my sewing, by a mighty 
effort she gasped out : "Come right off!" The kitchen's 
on fire !" I did not finish my sewing just then. 



It is said that rural life is a great promoter of origi- 
nality, or rather of individuality of character and expe- 
rience. Now, there does not seem to be much scope for 
originality in a funeral oration, and yet a most thoroughly 
unique and unconventional effort of that sort came to me, 
in the little churchyard of our country home. 

A man having died in a remote settlement he was 
brought to our village for burial. With him came the 
preacher of his own district. The greater part of the 
service was held around the grave, the sermon and the 
singing. As the cofifin was lowered into the grave, he 
stepped forward, and, bowing most effusively on all sides 
waved his hand toward the coffin. 

"This yere, ladies and men, is our good old friend, 
Abimileck Scriggs. He's dead, Abimileck is." That 
seemed to be the general impression, else why a funeral ? 
" This is Abimileck in the cofifin : and you'er his kinfolks 
and his neighbors and his friends," 

Being now all properly introduced — though the fact 
of introducing a corpse, struck, with its grim humor — the 
preacher proceeded : "Now whar's Abimileck? That I 
couldn't say, ladies and men, because ladies and men, I 
don't know. I ain't taking any chances. Most inginerly 
I takes no chances ; and I ain't a saymg where Abimileck 
is. But men and ladies this much I does know. Abimi- 
leck ain't a carin' now bout craps and dry spells and 
rainy weather and the price of sweet potatoes. But 
mind, I ain't a sayin' whar Abimileck is. Most inginerly 
I takes no chances and I ain't a sayin' whar Abimilick is. 



SELECTIONS. 177 

But ladies and men, whar Abimileck is, wharsomever he's 
bin pinted to stand, none of these yere consarns is a 
troublin' him." 

For over two hours the preacher harangued the mul- 
titude — the "ladies and men," though why the "men" 
should not be "gentlemen," when the "women were 
ladies," went past my comprehension, but "ladies and 
men" was the ever-recurring combination. When his 
breath and voice gave out he appealed to the crowd: 

"Jes hist a hime Hist it quick. I'm powerful short- 
winded to-day, and I'll rest a spell while you're singin'. 
Hist the "Good Old Ship of Zion." That's the hime our 
good old brother Abimileck down there dead in the 
cofifin would love to hear." The hime not being "histed" 
to his satisfaction, he became somewhat indignant. 

"Ef you'se can't hist a better chune over good old 
Abimileck I'll try it myself." 

Then, in a quavering falsetto, he again launched the 
Ship of Zion. Having heard- Parthenia render this 
selection as an inducement to the baby to go to sleep, I 
joined in with the preacher. He glanced gratefully at 
me, stopped singing and left me to lead with a few shaky 
sisters. Our uncertain chorus had what musicians would 
call "an obligato" from the preacher by way of encour- 
agement, "That's right, my visitin' sister. We's powerful 
glad to have you h'ist the chune. I dun herd you was a 
singin' in a town church, and you can sartin sure sholy 
start that 'Good Old Ship of Zion.' I can see it sailing 
while you sing. Our pore old Brother Abimileck, he 
sho did love that ar hime. Pears like he would most riz 
outen that coffin to hert you." 

The suggestion of that possibility almost choked off 
any vocal progress. Well, he preached some more and 
he sang some more, until the sun was high, and my four- 
year-old piped out in her clear treble : 

"Please mama, ain't de fun'ealgoin' to get no dinner 
to-day?" Then we dispersed. 

M. E. Henry-Ruffin, 

in The Catholic Colutnbian. 



1/8 



SELECTIONS. 

INSPIRATION. 



Upon the rolling sea of formless mind 

The spirit brooded. Darkness pressed a palm 
Against its yearning gaze, and round the calm, 

Slow feet that tread the deep, a pall did wind. 

The solemn sound of hidden force, that pined 
To vent its latent might in rhythmic psalm 
Of bubbling brook, of lilting bird, alarm 

Of muttered meanings deep alone could find. 

Let there be light ! Tne Brooding One ordained, 

Night on its sable wings flitted apace — 

Power Incarnate gazed forth into space 

'Till the wide trail of night in ebon}' stained. 

With ciphers of light in assonance chained. 

Now chimed with arias of infinite grace. 

C. H. Inge, 
in Ne-w Tork Home Jour7ial 



EDELWEISS." 



A chubby, dimpled baby face, 

Framed in by golden curls, 
A dainty mouth with rose-leaves lined, 

And set with glistening pearls ; 
I asked her name, and who she was — 

To her doll she gave a kiss. 
Then answered with sweet dignity : 

" I'm mother's Edelweiss." 

'' A queer name, little one," I said, 

" Why did she name you so .' " 
The little lady shook her head. 

And answered : " I don't know." 
" And what does father call you, dear > " 

Her eyes grew wide at this ; 
She answered ; " Hasn't any ; I'm 

Just mother's 'Edelweiss.' " 

Years afterwards I wandered 

Thro' a churchj^ard quaint and old, 
And came upon a little mound. 

Whereon sweet flowers grew bold, 
A tiny white cross reared its head ; 

The setting sunshine's kiss 
Lingered upon a name thereon, 

I looked : 'twas " Edelweiss." 



SELECTIONS. 1 79 

I thought then of the little one, 

Whom I saw long j'ears ago ; 
Of the little one with golden curls 

Who loved her dolly so. 
Poor mother ! how I pitied her ! 

The little cross I kissed, 
In tender sympathy with her 

Who lost her " Edelweiss." 

Veni McDonald, 
in New Orleans Picayune 



VALEDICTORY TO ST. JOSEPH'S. 



No cloudlet dims Aurora's ray 
While sweetly smiles our Vale to-daj; 
New charms of beaut\' now adorn. 
Fair blossom rivalling sunbeam's hue, 
Rare floweret kissed by crystal dew; 
O'er streamlet, mead and rill is borne 
The peerless glow of radiant morn. 

Why midst us now doth Parting steal 

Our halc^'on jovs thus to conceal.'' 

Ah, glorious life, for us no more! 

Gay scenes of childhood, boons of earth, 

Fond Memory treasures well vour worth; 

We part from all, save precious lore 

Whose spirit may lost youth restore. 

Five blissful years in sweet content 
With thee, O Vale serene, I've spent; 
The brightest jovs glad youth can know 
Are thine, all thine; too swiftly passed 
Those blithesome moments; could they last! 
But still, St. Joseph's, strengthbestow 
As Fountain-head, whence blessings flow. 

A tear fond glisteneth round each smile, 
No more, as erst, can joys beguile; 
Full soon unfoldeth woman's sphere 
Wherein doth shine all virtues sweet, 
With strength, endurance, e'er replete, 
Wherein faith leadeth souls most dear 
To hope, to love, to persevere. 



l80 SELECTIONS. 

Of heart, of soul, rich gifts we hail, 
Celestial manna of the Vale ; 
The best to me that here was given 
Is precious Faith, gem not of earth, 
None purer, greater, higher worth ; 
Its changeless lustre is from Heaven ; 
May ne'er this pearl from me be riven. 

Sweet home, St. Joseph's, charm unfold 
More priceless far than gems of gold ; 
Within my heart I'll deep enshrine 
The purest love earth can bestow 
That casts o'er parting Heaven's glow ; 
And thus through life I'll e'er combine, 
Dear Valley, blessings only thine. 

Loved Sisters, let me breathe once more 
My heart's deep fervor as of 3'ore ; 
Fore'er that heart with love shall burn : 
And if. as bird, 'twere left to me 
My nest to choose, — ah! were I free. 
From home, from school-life ne'er I'd turn ; 
My soul for both in vain doth yearn. 

Companions, loyal, warm, sincer ; 

We're leaving shrines our souls revere ; 

Love born of love its links did chain 

Round hearts, round souls, mid childhood, youth : 

We've learned here virtue, knowledge, truth. 

From those who e'er through sunshine, rain, — 

Look heavenward only for true gain. 

Youth's crowning triumph now is o'er, 

No joy like this can Time restore ; 

O Mar}' loved. Queen of our Vale, 

E'er guide us o'er life's changeful sea, 

St. Joseph, too, our Guard still be ; 

Then safely must our barque, though frail, 

Lead us eternal joys to hail. 

Frances P. Seay. 



SELECTIONS. l8l 

THE ORGAN. MASTER. 



Bernotti was beside himself with joy. At an eleva- 
tion far above the sordid elements of earth, what wonder 
he appeared unlike one of its creatures? He seemed to 
hover in mid-air as he reflected on the narrow-minded, 
simple class with whom his lot had lately been cast. 

For the wonderful organ was completed ! In its ex- 
terior of fluted gold and satin-wood it challenged every 
beholder. Could one conceive of the wakeful nights, the 
beating pulse, the frenzied haste that had characterized 
its gradations ? 

Only kindred souls, for the second vision is rare, and 
the implanted power that strengthens it flourishes in few 
natures. 

Yet one very near had shared his enthusiasm; had 
felt the alternations of hope and despair as strongly as he, 
and now, with him, uttered exclamations of delight. 

Behold her as she stands beside him. The re- 
semblance is so marked as to cause no doubt. The same 
broad brow, blue-black hair, dark prophetic eye is there. 
What matter if the pallor on both faces be striking ! One 
does not desire rosy cheeks and cherubic smiles forever — 
they detract from soul strength. 

"Carlotta mia, what thinkest thou ? Shall we try the 
Sanctus?" 

She observes the nervous fingers, the kindling eye, 
the appealing speech, and his eagerness communicates 
with hers. No one is near ; the workmen have left the 
building. Full pleased were they at the termination of 
the job. With no more pride, however, than such classes 
feel as they count the working days. Only Paolo, a boy, 
lingers near. He doubtless is needed. 

"Thine answer, daughter?" 

She nods assent, her eyes beaming ; and the doors 
are unlocked. 

The many banks of ivory keys shame his long, pale 
fingers, they are so dazzling in newness. He lets his 



182 SELECTIONS. 

hands lie passively there until inspiration, joy, gratitude, 
and devotion creep down to the slender tips; then the 
soul of the man and the soul of the organ are incor- 
porated into one and rise together. 

Out-doors the day is young. The din of life and 
traffic drown the opening bars of the melody ; also the 
matchless purity and velvety softness of the girl's voice. 
But the father hears them, and the nave, chancel, and re- 
cesses of the cathedral hold them jealously for a while. 

And Paolo, the organ-blower, hears them. He falls 
on his knees, as best he may, crosses himself, and utters 
a hasty " Jesu, Maria ! an angel sings !" 

One slanting ray of sunlight pierces the stained glass 
window near the organ loft, like a golden shaft of glory. 
It rests, at first, on the choir-rail ; but as the girl, in 
momentary rapture, shifts her position, it aureoles her 
head like a tribute to fame. All is impressive and beau- 
tiful ; the air quivers with melody and tone-power. 

As the song dies the father and the child suddenly 
embrace. 

Without, the last bars have been caught by the pass- 
ing throng. From one or two listening ones a number 
grow, until an eager company pause with attentive ears. 
They themselves, Florentines, inhabit a land of song ; it 
is their birthright, and that dreamy, intense look on their 
faces belongs to their souls as truly as the life-breath to 
their bodies. 

"We will enter," exclaim they. 

But the doors do not yield to their impatient fingers; 
the battering knocks elicit no response. For the two 
up there do not hear nor remember world-sounds — they 
are winging an unconscious flight , and the cries of earth- 
lings die as space grows wider. 

Can you not wait, oh, people ! Can you not cherish 
the memory of those faint vibrations until the full tones 
are heard ? To-morrow the cathedral doors open — the 
celebration of San Bernardo occurs. 

Some have evidently forgotten this, for one in the 
throng assures them it is so, dwelling with such emphasis 



SELECTIONS. 183 

on the wonderful instrument, the new maestro, and the 
peerless voice of Carlotta, that the people gather round 
him eagerly for more information. 

He succeeds in instilling patience until the morrow. 
They move reluctantly away, and the space before the 
doors is bare for a moment or two. 

" Home, cara mia" says the father. 

The triumph is over. To begin anew, however, on 
the morrow, when the people, the warm-hearted people, 
will shout in exultancy. Even the saints shall hear, and 
the silent, sculptured figures near the altar will not appear 
of lifeless stone. 

The three pass quickly into the street, unobserved, 
and seemingly calm. Bernotti's home is within a mod- 
erate walk — a half-hour's ride. His pace is nervous and 
accelerated by thought. The daughter moves silently by 
his side. 

Paolo leaves them shortly. A look not unmixed with 
awe comes into his face as he murmurs. ^'Addio, signor, 
signora! " 

Carlotta beckons him, and reaching down into the 
embroidered scarsella hanging at her side, places some- 
thing in his small white palm. 

A grateful ""grazio, " and he runs away with delight. 
Poor youth, he cannot intrude on their " holy of holies," 
he can only feel, and quiver with the dominance of their 
personalities. 

The maestro's home lies very near the river, on 
the southern bank. It is a quaint stone building, with 
small windows and a grim-looking entrance. Years ago, 
so tradition tells, a noble — Orlando de Cenci — dwelt 
there. But he fled from Florence at the time of a politi- 
cal outbreak, and whether he was numbered with the liv- 
ing or the dead no one knew — for he never returned. 

Bernotti has lived there many years — the location 
and the interior comfort please him greatly. From the 
roofed terrace, or upper loggia, he can see the Ponte del 
Vecchio and the numerous boats gliding beneath. 
He can also turn his lis-hts from the narrow streets of the 



1 84 SELECTIONS. 

city to the river surface bediamonded at morning by the 
sunHght, and rosy-colored by the evening sun. 

On entering the house they leave the uninviting 
ground floor and pass to the second story, where Bernotti 
drops into a large easy-chair by the open window. The 
daughter absents herself a while. 

Much thought, wonderful dreams, are crowded into 
that brief interval, the undue amount causing him to press 
his cold fingers on his burning, throbbing temples. 

"Thou needest refreshment, father," comes a 
voice close to his ear. 

As he looks up bewilderedly she draws a tiny table 
before him, on it a tray of delicacies. 

The silver salver of golden fruit, the purple grapes, 
among which a warm red lingers, tempt his eye and pal- 
ate. With her own hand she pours from a caraffa near 
by a glass of ruby-colored wine, lifts it to his lips, then 
fills one for herself. 

"To these crowning years of life, to the present !" 
exclaim they in unison ; and the toast is a fervent one. 

Theirs is not only the holy tie that binds father and 
child ; not alone pride of possession and force of intellect 
that assert supremacy, but understanding and mutual 
companionship are the hinges on which their lives swing. 
To no one can he disclose secret thoughts, inward moni- 
tions, mighty plans as he can to Carlotta. His very 
inspirations are met by hers, and their combined ideas 
flow into a powerful singleness. 

They had passed years in Florence — the beloved 
wife and mother had died there. She, too, had caroled 
like a bird. Carlotta had often heard her father speak of 
those sweet songs. And the child, whose advent had 
cost the mother her life, was a sacred trust to Bernotti. 
Had not the last words been of her — a solemn charge? 
And the wishes of his darling wife, Faustina, could never 
be disregarded ; his love for her lived in her offspring. 

"At last, Carlotta, I have realized my dream, and yet, 
filia, there is much to be done. We will teach the people 



SELECTIONS. 1 8$ 

what music is. They shall rise with us to that harmonious 
sphere, and be deaf to the discord of earth." 

For he is not selfish in his art; he must impart to 
others what he himself feels. 

"And thy voice, my bird," he continues, "shall take 
them where they have never been. As high as the lark 
soareth they shall go, following thee, indeed, until they 
lose their physical existence. Now give me thine 
approval, child, as a true reminder and sharer of my joy." 

"It spake within my voice, father, when in the 
cathedral. I could not subdue the rapturous flow ; it 
would repeat itself at every interval. Thy glory is my 
glory, and without thee I should not live !" 

" Nay, nay, filia, do not so surely say." But a 
similar thought cowered within his own brain, and an 
unknown dread seized him. 

" May the years spare us both !" said he, fervently 
and reverently. 

Then, bending down, he looked into the glowing 
eyes lifted up to his, observed the parted lips, through 
which the breath of excitement and emotion came 
quickly. In an instant he divined what she would be. 

"My own child, my Carlotta ! murmured he, in 
admiration, kissing the white brow. 

The night came slowly down. A long time father 
and child remained there, with no light but that of the 
distant stars, that claimed their vision more than the dim 
lights of the city. 



II. 



Bernotti has scarcely realized until now the height 
to which he has climbed. Yet his memory is faithful. 
It trends to past years — to the time when he stood, a 
ragged, delicate-looking poverino, on the quay at Florence, 
in his hand a small, cracked violin his father had 
bequeathed him wath his last breath. It was all he had, 
poor man ! The boy had been instructed by him until 



1 86 SELECTIONS. 

sickness and suffering terminated the lessons. Father 
and son had lived alone, Bernotti's mother having died 
when he was a boy of twelve. 

But the sunny land of song had germinated the 
seeds in the boy's heart, and the few by-standers that had 
listened at evening to his sweet voice and quaint ditties 
had now increased in numbers. The qiiattrini were 
thrown with genuine pleasure into his little brown hands 
as he passed timidly among them. 

" Why do you not carry a monkey, boy, and teach 
him smart tricks?" said old Monna Marcia, standing near 
her stall, her arms akimbo. And, beckoning, she ten- 
dered him some pieces of dried fruit and bread. He 
had spent many nights under her roof when the quattrini 
were plenty. 

His lip curled with contempt. 

'• I am not like them," he would reply ; " like the 
ones who think only of sleep and drink. I play because 
I must ; I feel it here !" excitedly beating his breast. "It 
is music of which I dream — ^not of a clown's life !" 

She could only stare in amazement. K poverhio like 
him should not have such ideas. She wondered if the 
devil was lying in wait for his soul. Something in the 
boy's eyes when he talked of his music led her to believe 
it. She had heard of such things before, 

And the months passed, and fresher life came to 
Bernotti. He had changed his customary corner for 
another, and another, as an inward influence encouraged 
his steps. 

One day he had walked a greater distance than he 
had ever known. He looked up at a massive white 
marble building towering beside him. There were many 
persons entering it, and departing from its doors. The 
faces impressed him; all were so full of fire, energy, soul. 

He carelessly laid his fingers on the beloved instru- 
ment ; and, having tuned it, a slow, sweet melody 
trembled on the air. With his cheek resting on the edge 
of the violin, eyes downcast, a happy smile illuminating 
his face, what wonder that he observed no one near 



SELECTIONS. 1 8/ 

until an abrupt tap on his shoulder aroused him, and a 
gruff voice bade him "Begone, or play less ; for the 
maestro's in there ; it might disturb him and the singers." 

The admonisher could not interpret the trembling 
lip, nor the sudden welling of scalding tears. But some 
one else could ; he also had been a listener, though an 
unobserved one. 

"Come with me boy," said he, unheeding the aston- 
ishment of the gaping fault-finder. 

And Bernotti obeyed with a horrible dread of pun- 
ishment, imprisonment — perhaps a beating; for the 
signor looked stern and forbidding then. 

Into an apartment in that same grand building, he 
led the ragged one. 

"Now play," said he; "play that which pleases you 
best." 

The tone was direct, yet kind ; and the boy gathered 
assurance and obeyed. He forgot everything except his 
father's face. In a misty outlook he could see him 
smiling and encouraging. And the music approached 
the character of the spheres ; seeming to reach that far- 
clime where the parent dwelt. 

Suddenly he felt a touch on his arm — an excited, 
almost rough, touch. Two glowing eyes gazed into his ; 
a voice suppressed with excitement exclaimed : 

"Boy, thy fortune lieth in those slim fingers ! Choose 
now ; wilt thou come to me and hear and learn nothing 
but music until thou diest, or go back to thy street 
fiddling? Quick, I await thine answer!" 

■'If thou believest I can — " faltered the boy ; but a 
sudden interruption burst from the maestro : 

"Yes or no ? That will be all I shall ask thee !" 

The awed "yes" pleased the questioner. 

It had been years since that meeting. Bernotti had 
never forgotten his benefactor. Of all music he had 
chosen the organ as a means of communicating his soul's 
language. A stubborn refusal had come, at first, from 
the maestro. But he saw the boy's propensity for the 



l88 SELECTIONS. 

instrument, and knew, by intuition, he must not gainsay 
him. 

And to-day had crowned all the years of toil, untiring 
energy and perseverance, — he had planned and built his 
beloved organ. To-morrow the outside world would 
hear and know what had been secreted within his breast. 
Until then, sweet sleep and dreams of glory. 



III. 



Weeks had passed since the feast day of San Ber- 
nardo. To the people assembled at the Cathedral of 
Santa Croce the day was, indeed, a memorable one. Not 
alone for the sacredness and the duties of the service, — 
the stirring words or Fra Lorenzo, the old white-haired 
priest, — but for the wonderful music and the matchless 
voice of Carlotta. 

Since then the doors had been thronging with devotees. 
Many knelt at that door and altar that had long been 
absent : now attracted by the far-famed reputation of the 
father and the child. 

To the sweet singer above, at the carved leggio, no 
vain-glory or triumph came, beyond that of the spirit's 
exultancy. She had no desire to encourage such feel- 
ings. The music flowing through her being struggled 
for an outlet, and found its way. 

Each Lord's Day, as she looked at the kneeling 
masses below, the thought came : "They shall rise with 
me ; the force of my art shall lift them up — up where the 
Highest Choir singeth and melody is eternal." 

Therein lay her thought of the world. For she knew 
of grief-stricken parents that knelt there, longing for sur- 
cease of sorrow, whose hearts craved a magic thawing. 

She thought of the unloved meh and women life had 
disappointed, that came for respite from soul-wounds ; 
thought of the contrite sinners,jof harrassed worldlings — 
creatures bound in self; and to one and all she addressed 
herself. 



SELECTIONS. 1 89 

That is why they came day after day, week after 
week. What voice had yet penetrated their hearts as 
hers? What one beyond mere mechanical skill and 
breadth of compass had they known ? 

*' She must never leave us !" cried they with one 
accord, — the rapturous, entranced people. 

"Never leave us!" echoed from the father's heart ; 
and separation seemed a future too dim to be questioned. 

The month of August was approaching. The season 
was sultry and enervating. Already rumors of the malig- 
nant fever were afloat. But the scourge seemed far 
removed, and the awe-stricken faces soon resumed their 
wonted laughter and serenity, while prayers for health 
were offered daily. 

The youngest and beautiful are summoned first. 
Does it not always seem so ? Before a week had elapsed 
the voice in the cathedral was unheard — the organ fin- 
gered by a stranger-hand. 

In a dimly-lighted apartment a father held the burn- 
ing hands of his child. Frenzied with grief, he beheld 
the Dread Destroyer, knowing, from the spotted cheeks, 
crimson hue, and raving incoherency, that the Merciless 
One was there. Then he gave himself up to despair, — 
courted death for his loved one's sake. A survival, alone 
and unloved, was rejected with anguish. 

Few came near. How could they, knowing the 
terrible contagion ! Yet aid was engaged, and of the 
best. 

What suf^ced it all, when a heavenly seal had 
stamped the clammy brow — a gentle force was drawing 
the soul away, higher, afar ! 

When the first rays of morning sun smote the gray- 
ness, a silent figure bowed in locked despair before a life- 
less form — the voice of Carlotta had joined another choir. 

In some way the news spread quickly. Words of 
sympathy and love were carried to the parent's ear. 
They but revived his sorrow. If he could only forget — 
forget everything ! 



igo SELECTIONS. 

How could he with her before him, cut down in her 
youthful bloom ? Through his brain no tender melodies 
sped ; his fingers were idle ; his art stilled by a stranger 
touch. 

It all seemed a hideous dream, that coming home a 
day later, childless and forsaken. In every room her 
presence spake. There stood the grand piano, the instru- 
ment from which marvelous speech had proceeded. But 
the chair before it was vacant. 

"Vacant, oh, God!" he groaned, "and to be so 
forever !" 

In the room where she had died everything was dis- 
arranged. It was being fumigated, and resembled a 
charnal-house ; not the dainty nest where his bird had 
slumbered. 

" He is worrying himself into the fever," whispered 
the nurse and the faithful old door-tender, Sebastian, 
marking his feverish gaze and weakening frame. 

Even then the deadly fever was creeping through 
his veins. 

In a rational moment, while the thought impressed 
him, he penned a few lines and pinned the paper to a 
table. 

" If I die," he wrote, " tell them to respect the organ. 
Let no rude touch profane it. It is part of myself, and I 
shall carry its music with me." 

" A strange reminder," mused the nurse, reading the 
brief note. But he left it there ; it was his wish. 

Before three days had passed, another victim to the 
terrible plague had joined the army of the invisible. 

And the people mourned in their distant places of 
refuge ; while the cathedral was still silent and deserted. 



IV. 



December; early morning in Florence. The life- 
giving frost has spread a transparent sheet on the earth ; 
spires and roofs are tipped and fringed with its breath, 
about the street there is a look of vitality ; for the fever- 



SELECTIONS. I9I 

fiend has gone, — fled with the early autumn winds. Only- 
saddened memories remain to the inhabitants of the once 
stricken city; onl}' quiet homes for their dead, and vacant 
places by the hearthstone. 

The interior of Santa Croce sees the sunlight again. 
Fra Lorenzo still incites the people to God and their duty. 
In the organ-loft a stranger swept the keys. Around the 
railing, white-clothed boys now chant the mass strains. 
But the people have lost the fervor that distinguished 
them when Bernotti played. They are no longer spell- 
bound ; their gaze wanders aimlessly over the building : 
they pine for the beloved maestro, his music, and more 
than all, for Carlotta. 

A few days later they are assembled for vespers. In 
the midst of the service — the most impressive part — soft 
harmonies arise from the organ-loft. 

Whom can it be ? The instrument is locked ; the 
master below. Fra Lorenzo had requested *'no music to be 
given at this solemn service." But his own voice had 
chanted the prayers. 

The music becomes louder, grander, and more famil- 
iar. Surely they have heard that melody before. 

Ah, yes ! it is a composition of Bernotti's. With it 
a peerless voice rises in rapture. 

Those nearest the organ-loft behold a beloved form 
seated at the instrument, his hands on the keys, that even 
departure from the material cannot withdraw. The 
same individuality of touch, the same harmonies and 
plaintive minor chords, again thrilled the expectant people. 
And when the beautiful melody glides into a larghetto 
movement, and a peerless voice, more of heaven than 
earth, revives a long-silent strain, they look again in 
marvelment. 

Outlined in the shadow above, are a pair of grandly- 
developed shoulders, an erectly poised head, and a full, 
white throat that all remember. The outline gleams like 
the phosphorescent beauty on the night-waves. 

Even the old white-haired priest, standing before the 



192 SELECTIONP,. 

altar, cannot restrain his emotion. He rubs his eyes, 
wondering whether a vision has come to him. 

He learns better, however, when one broad-shoul- 
dered fellow, that has been induced to ascend, returns 
and says : 

"Santa Maria! 1 could not enter the place. It was 
icy cold ; my breath frosted the glass door before me, as 
if it had been a mid-winter day." 

But he does not tell them that he has actually seen 
both the maestro and Carlotta ; that they have smiled 
into his blanching face. "They would not believe me," 
he decides. 

"It was only a vision we saw from down-stairs ; it 
soon faded away," he hears them say. 

But Fra Lorenzo and he know. And the former 
believes that the days of miracles are come again. 

Nina Picton, 

in Frank Leslie'' s Weekly. 



THE SCHOOL ROOM. 



You ask me to describe it, and I will: — 

The walls are bare, save where the useful board 

In ebon blackness, doth the sides adorn. 

Glancing around on stifif-backed chairs and desks 

You'd say, — •' Indeed, this room tells but of gloom." 

Not so, rnj friend, for at yon window, where 

The autumn wind now sobs so mournfully, 

The glorious sunlight enters, and lights up 

The locks and flowing tresses of my girls, 

Whose hearts are full of trusting innocence 

As morning blossoms are of drops of dew : 

And when to me their youthful faces turn, 

I seem to hear an angel whispering — 

" Lift up thy heart to God, and pray that He 

May grant the strength and wisdom from on high 

To train with loving truth these tender plants." 

You tell me, friend, how 3'our young blossoms grow- 

The rose, the violet, and the lily fair, 

You train, and in the employment sweet you learn 



SELECTIONS. I93, 

New lessons from them of the Father's love ; 
'Tis thus these human blossoms I do tend ; 
For I have violets, roses, lilies here. 

That fair young girl before me, could you see. 
With gentle eyas upraised, and note the hue 
Which steals into her cheeks as she repeats 
The truths culled from the lore ot centuries, 
You would not need my words to tell you that 
This maiden fair, with trusting heart and eyes, 
Breathes forth a sweeter fragrance from her soul 
Than south-wind from the snowv lily robs ; 
So pure, I call her *' Lily of the Vale." 

And all around me crimson roses glow 
With hope, health, joy and happy innocence. 

One snow-white blossom have I — sad to say ! — 
*' Pale as sea-bleached shell" — a lovely one. 
Whose fragrance is too sweet and pure for earth. 
Not long she'll linger on the parent stem ; 
For soon His reaper will the Father send 
And gather that sweet flower to bloom again 
In fadeless beauty on the shining shore. 

I will now put back the clustering leaves 
And bring my modest violets forth to light. 
For mine here bloom for me, as yours for 3'ou, 
Hiding their beauty, not their fragranc}'. 
And now, m^' gentle friend, you cannot say 
With a sad smile, " This room tells but of gloom." 
Is it not full of beauty, joy, and life .'' 
And do you wonder that I love my work. 
And feel my heart grow tender 'neath the touch, 
The " waxen touch " that " baby fingers " give .'' 
For fair young children are as babes to us 
Who long have toiled along life's dusty path, 
And borne the heat and conflict of the day. 
Ah ! what a wealth of gladness, music, love. 
Deep in the untroubled hearts of children dwell ! 
One, with the vision and the faculty divine, 
Hath likened their young souls to golden harps, 
Dread privilege is mine, to touch these chords. 
To play upon these strings whose slightest tones 
Will vibrate through eternity : mj' friend. 
Pray now for me that my unskillful hands 
Ma}' never make a discord on these harps. 
That I, by heavenly fingers led, may strike 
Notes which on high will float, to join the strain 
That angels sing when bending round God's throne 

Eleanor Churchill Gibbs. 
Dallas Academy . 



194 selections; 

WOMAN IN SHAKESPEARE. 



(Read before the N. T, Lupton Conversation Club.) 

" But stronger Shakespeare felt for man alone ; 
Drawn by his pen our ruder passions stand, 
Tn' unrivalled picture of his early hand." 

So sings the poet Collins, after praising Fletcher's 
faithful delineation of " every glowing thought that 
warms the female mind," and lamenting Jonson's 
loss of nature in art. The earlier critics of Shakspeare 
accept this opinion, for the most part, without demur, 
and some of them seek an excuse for the supposed weak- 
ness of his female characters in the fact that the poet 
conceived their parts under the impression that they 
would always be played by boys, according to the invari- 
able custom of the stage in his day. It is argued that 
under such circumstances he could only hope to portray 
woman as " the lesser man ;" and the freedom of speech 
and action, with which his heroines sometimes shock mod- 
ern ideas of feminine reserve and delicacy, is cited in 
further proof that this was the limit of his purpose. We 
can well imagine that some personal feeling on the part 
of the dramatist lies back of his picture of the Egyptian 
Queen's indignant shrinking from the prospect of seeing 
" some squeaking Cleopatra boy forth " her greatness, 
and the thought that such a fate awaited the fair crea- 
tions of his hrain would surely have chilled a less glowing 
fancy. More recent critics, however, are generally agreed 
that this reflection did not materially affect the workings 
of the mighty mind of Shakespeare. His women are 
almost universally regarded as fit companion pieces for 
his men in all the essential qualities of their sex. As to 
their unconventionality of word and manner we must 
remember that they but hold a mirror to the conversation 
and conduct of the most refined and cultured women of 
the age of " Good Queen Bess." 



SELECTIONS. I95 

Hazlitt says : " No one ever hir the true perfection 
of the female character as Shakespeare; " and Mrs. Jame- 
son's " Characteristics of Women " is an ardent tribute 
to the power and delicacy of his presentation of woman- 
hood in all its phases. Ruskin even asserts, broadly, 
that Shakespeare has no heroes, but only heroines, 
declaring that the catastrophe of every plav is caused 
always by the folly or fault of a man ; the redemption, if 
there be any, by the wisdom and virtue of a woman ; and 
gives a startling enumeration of instances corroboratino- 
his position. 

This wide divergence of views, with regard to Shakes- 
peare's treatment of woman, is, perhaps, the highest testi- 
mony to his fidelity to the many sidedness of feminine 
nature that could be adduced. For what are these views 
but a reproduction of the conflicting ideas of woman's 
position and influence that different ages and individuals 
have formed from their study of her in history and 
experience. 

Certain notable facts, equally true of the women of 
Shakespeare and the women of real life, probably lie at 
the root of the varying impressions made by both. Of 
these the most conspicuous is the subordinate position 
held by woman in the public economy of the world and 
nominally, even in private life. This position necessitates 
the pursuit of her aims and purposes by more or less 
indirect methods, and leaves her agency often unnoticed 
by the cursory observer, when in reality all powerful. Her 
naturally timid and modest disposition is thus intensified 
by the situation in which she is placed, and every effort 
of training is put forth in the same direction. Prominence 
in any respect is set before her as a thing to be avoided, 
and she is taught to aspire only to silent influence. But 
influence is none the less strong because silent. He who 
looks below the surface of events will find a steady cur- 
rent of feminine purpose ruling many a winding of the 
stream of time, while the effect it has produced on the 
lives of individual men is often unmistakable. As has 
been well said, many a proud man moves through life as 



196 SELECTIONS. 

some stately ship glides into harbor, apparently progress- 
ing solely by his own efforts, when a closer examination 
will show a little tug of a wife close to his side, the true 
propelling force. 

Shakespeare, none the less than life, presents us with 
example after example of men who are, more or less 
openly, led on to the determining acts of their lives by 
the influence of women. That serpent of the Nile, Marc 
Antony's delight and destruction, sways the world 
as truly in the impassioned scenes of "Antony and 
Cleopatra," as on the stage of history. She "whose 
infinite variety, age could not stale nor custom wither," 
who did "make defect perfection." and "breathless breath 
forth power" is a vivid impersonation of the real 
Cleopatra, who was the arbiter of the destinies of heroes 
and nations. Lady Macbeth is the real architect of her 
husband's fortunes, in spite of the fact that the finer 
sensibilities of h^r sex could not withstand the strain of 
actually seeing her husband "wade through slaughter to 
the throne," to which she had shown him the path. 
Juliet, though in the eyes of some but a fond and foolish 
girl, led Romeo captive at her will to the oblivion of 
family pride and worldly prudence; and, as Ruskin sug- 
gests, would have carried out successfully a wise and 
entirely brave strategem had it not been brought to a 
ruinous issue by the reckless impatience of her husband. 
As for Portia, in the "Merchant of Venice," that "perfect 
woman nobly planned" — what must have been the fate of 
the amiable Bassanio and his ill-starred friend Antonio 
without her wise aid. Of all Shakespeare's female char- 
acters she is most fully rounded. Logical in thought, 
fertile in invention, ready in wit, and resolute in action, 
she is yet full of all tender and generous sentiment. A 
sunninness of nature that gilds all she touches, adds its 
charm to these more solid qualities, and enables her to 
fulfill the true mission of woman, which is to hope where 
man despairs, to be patient where he is reckless, to trust 
where his faith fails. 



' SELECTIONS. 1 9/ 

One of the most marked characteristics of woman, 
and one that contributes largely to the apparent inconse- 
quence of her actions, is the possession of more acute and 
delicate sensibilities than man. In her emotional nature 
lies her greatest strength, and her greatest weakness. The 
conflict between her strong sensibilities, and the timidity 
and reserve to which nature and education alike incline 
her is productive of a thousand inconsistencies. Like a 
stream that has long gathered strength and volume in a 
circuitous underground passage, the soul of the most 
self-contained of women is liable at any time to burst 
forth in a gush of feeling that sweeps all before it. Al- 
though for the most part a willing subject to the- conven- 
tionalities of life, she can on occasion, as Hazlett phrases 
it, "forego the forms of propriety for its essence," with a 
boldness undreamt of by man. Indeed when once the 
restraints, behind which ordinarily she rests as in a safe 
shelter, are pushed aside by the sweep of some over- 
mastering passion, she pauses at nothing. This fact is 
thoroughly grasped by Shakespeare. The gentle Desde- 
mona does not hesitate to make a stand against her 
father, or in the face of the Venetian Senate, for the man 
her heart has chosen ; the modest Viola to serve her lord 
in the guise of a page ; or the obedient Miranda to forget 
her awe of the mighty Prospero in her longing to cheer 
the cruel labors of his captive. Nor do any of these 
strike us as unfeminine in thus transcending their ordinary 
characteristics in great emergencies. 

But of all the characteristics that tend to make 
woman a mystery to man, none is more effective in that 
direction than her disposition to be faithful to individuals 
rather than to ideas, and, if necessary, at the expense of 
the latter. It is this that often makes her actions so 
totally unaccountable to his differently constituted mind, 
and he utterly fails to comprehend a fidelity which is 
directed towards a person rather than a purpose or a 
cause. This sympathy with the individual, rather than 
the general, is unviersal among women, and is regarded 



198 SELECTIONS. 

by Mrs. Browning as the distinctive mark of the feminine 
nature. She very pertinently inquires : — 

" Does one of you 
Stand still from dancing, stop from stringing pearls, 
And pine and die because of the great sum 
Of universal anguish? Show me a tear. 
Wet as Cordelia's, in eyes bright as yours 
Because the world is mad; a red-haired child 
Sick in a fever, if you touch him once. 
Though but so little as with a finger-tip. 
Will set you weeping; but a million sick 
You could as soon weep for the rule of three 
Or compound fractions;" 

So sympathetic to the personal pang, and yet so hard 
to general suffering is woman, and Shakespeare does not 
neglect to bring out this peculiarity of hers in full 
strength. The return of the good Duke in "Measure for 
Measure" means to the noble Isabella the saving of her 
worthless brother rather than the delivery of the state. 
Ophelia moves unharmed amid the court of Denmark, 
conscious only of love and cherishing even from the 
treacherous and dissolute Queen, until she finds herself 
brought in personal contact with the horrors about her 
by seeing their fatal effect upon those nearest and dearest 
to her. 

The more one studies Shakespeare's women, the 
more the conviction grows that there is nothing in 
feminine nature so subtle or elusive as to have escaped 
his discerning eye ; nothing so evanescent as to have 
evaded his vivid pen. His women present the elemental 
characters of their prototypes and throw a valuable side- 
light on the study of life. They are the real women im- 
prisoned for study, as the microscopist holds captive the 
most delicate objects, with the hues of life still upon 
them. 

Kate Lupton. 



SELECTIONS. ICg 

'THE RING AND THE BOOK." 



[Read before the Thursda}' Literar}' Circle.] 

George Henry Lewes, in his "Life of Goethe," says: 
"A master-piece excites no sudden enthusiasm ; it must 
be studied much and long before it is fully compre- 
hended ; We must grow up to it, for it will not descend 
to us. Its emphasis grows with familiarity. We never 
become disenchanted ; we grow more and more awe- 
struck at its infinite wealth. We discover no trick, for 
there is none to discover. Homer, Shakespeare, Raphael, 
Beethoven, Mozart, never storm the judgment ; but once 
fairly in possession, they retain it with increasing influ- 
ence." 

From this point of view Browning's masterpiece may 
be studied with much profit and satisfaction, but the 
reader who seeks in books a source of languid pleasure 
need not turn its pages. The story of the old manu- 
script, the sale of Pompilia to Count Guido, his subse- 
quent cruelty, her rescue by the young priest, their pur- 
suit, the separation of husband and wife, the murder of 
Pompilia and her foster-parents by Guido and his band, 
their trial and condemnation, and the affirmation of their 
sentence by the Pope is retold by each participant in the 
several narratives of "The Ring and the Book." 

As if to refute the charge of obscurity, so often 
brought against him, the poet, by comparing the crude 
facts between the "crumpled vellum covers" to the 
" ignot of gold ere the ring is made," explains even the 
meaning of his title. His own task he briefly outlines as 
similar to the artificer's, who 

— " Mingles gold 
With gold's alloy, and, duly tempering both, 
Effects a manageable means." 

In the monologues, which make up the contents of 
the book, the poet imparts his intellectual and soul-life to 
the incidents of the Roman murder-case, which constitutes 
the frame-work of the poem. 



200 SELECTIONS, 

^ He discloses the one great secret of authorcraft when 
he says : — 

" I fused m}' live soul and that inert-stuff, 
Before attempting smithcraft." yj 

Each statement in the various versions of the tragedy, 
is a new revelation of this wonderful personality. 

There are no tiresome repetitions in the chapters 
wherein the facts of the case are recorded, for each story 
is instinct with the life of the author. 

Herein lies the highest worth of all poetry, overlooked 
by readers who occupy themselves with interpretations of 
the letter of the book, instead of endeavoring to reach, 
through the letter, the spirit, of which the letter is but 
an imperfect expression. 

The special phases of Browning's intellect as revealed 
in this production of his genius are almost innumerable. 
The poem is probably richer in materials of a more varied 
character than any other extant. 

The circumstances involved in the murder case 
adapts it admirably to the poet's plan of unfolding the 
truth of the story by contrasting the true and false ver- 
sions of the facts. In the dramatic monologues, the 
poet's favorite mode of expression, he tells the truth in 
Art's way — the only way in which it is possible to speak 
to mankind. It is this fusion of the artist's soul which 
renders responsive the soul of the reader, and induces the 
right attitude towards the True by sympathy with the 
personality revealed in the relation of the circumstances. 

The Poet takes every conceivable attitude towards 
the incidents of the case, but fixes the truth in every 
instance by disclosing the sources of error and presenting 
the conditions upon which the correction of error 
depends. 

Browning purchases the "old yellow book," con- 
taining the facts of the murder case, at a queer little stall, 
not by chance, but because a Hand, always above his 
shoulder, pushed him one day across a square in Flor- 
ence, toward's Baccio's marble. 



SELECTIONS. 20I 

These facts he transposes into the versified narra- 
tives of " The Ring and the Book," mingling his own 
fancy with the mass in order to make " it bear hammer 
and be firm to file." -^ 

In the prelude the poet so clearly states the contents 
of the " small-quarto size, part print, part manuscript,'' 
that the reader knows at once the whole truth. The first 
chapter presents the opinion of "Half-Rome" concerning 
the startling crime of uxorcide, and the second the con- 
trary view of " The Other Half Rome." Out of these 
two extremes the poet sums up the conservative verdict 
of the Roman populace announced in the " Tertium 
Quid." The statements of Guido — of Caponsacchi — of 
Pompilia — of the Pope — of Hyacinthus and Bottinius — 
and the Poet's Epilogue, are given in the remaining 
chapters. 

Guido's defense is a masterpiece of ingenious entreaty. 
His reply to the grave charge of murder embodies every 
plea which wisdom can devise to save his neck. He tells 
his patrician judges that he is the representative of a 
great line, 

" One of the first of the old families 

In Arezzo, ancientest of Tuscan towns," 

and invokes their pride of caste in behalf of the noble 
House of Franceschini. He urges upon their considera- 
tion the statement that he is not a monster of cruelty, 
but a man past the prime of life, out of health, and tortured 
by " the play o' the probe" in his heart. He says : 

'• Four years have I been operated on 

I' the soul, do you see — its tense or tremulous part — 

My self-respect, my care for a good name, 

Pride in an old one, love of kindred - just 

A mother, brothers, sisters, and the like. 

That looked up to my face wnen days were dim. 

And fancied they found light there — no one spot, 

Foppishly sensitive, but has paid its pang." 



202 SELECTIONS. 

He appeals to the vanity of the Court, and pleads 
for compassion by attributing his sins to the decrees of 
fate : 

"Will my lords, in the plentitude of their light, 
Weigh well that all this trouble has come on me 
Through my persistent treading in the paths 
Where I was trained to go, — wearing that yoke 
My shoulder was predestined to receive. 
Born to the hereditary stoop and crease !" 

He attempts to extenuate his sordid bargain with 
Pietro and Violante by reminding the Court that mar- 
riages of convenience are very common among noblemen. 
He sees no reason why he should ransack 

•' Those old odd corners of an emptv heart 
For remnants of dim love the long disused, 
And dusty crumblings of romance!" 

But the artful Guido does not fail to bespeak their 
commisseration because he did not find "all wifeliness" 
in his wife, — 

"As when I buy, timber and twig, a tree — 
I bu}' the song o' the nightingale inside." 

Guido's specious sophistry does not, however, for a 
moment mislead one in "the feel after truth." The 
reader is sure of Guido's guilt before his fatal blunder in 
the presentation of his case. Overpowered by the cer- 
tainty of his doom, and all the ignominy and shame of it, 
he unconsciously discloses his faith in Pompilia's inno- 
cence by the acknowledgment of his son : 

"The child I had died to see though in a dream. 

The child I was bid strike out for, beat the wave 

And baffled the tide of troubles where I swam, 

So I might touch the shore, lay down life at last 

At the feet so dim and distant and divine 

Of the apparition, as 't were Mary's babe 

Had held, through night and storm, the torch aloft; — 

Born now in very deed to bear this brand 

On forehead and curse me who could not save!" 

Guido's statement is followed by Caponsacchi's 
recital of the circumstances of the tragedy. 



SELECTIONS. 203 

His monologue begins witii startling abruptness. 
There are no arguments or entreaties in Caponsacchi's 
statement. He simply obeys the summons of the court, 
and makes no attempt to prove the facts he relates. He 
knows that his version of the tragedy is true, and does 
not therefore doubt that it will be so regarded. His 
words though are useless, so far as Pompilia's fate is con- 
cerned, and realizing this he cannot refrain from saying — 
" Pompilia is only dying while I speak." 

As he obeys the command of the court to repeat the 
circumstances connected with his half successful attempt 
to save Pompilia, it is evidently Caponsacchi's purpose to 
restrict his utterances to a statement of the facts in the 
case. But the thought that the judges might have 
averted the murder, if they had only listened to his storv 
before, wrings from his lips the sad reproach : 

" I left Pompilia to jour watch and ward, 

And now you point me — there and thus she lies ! 

* * * * Then, 

You were wrong, vou see; that's well to see, though late: 
That's all we may expect of man, this side 
The grave, his good is — knowing he is bad." 

As he contrasts the beauty of Pompilia's child-like soul 
with the hideous deformity of Guido's, Caponsacchi is 
further betrayed into an impassioned description of the 
Count's future : 

" And thus I see him slowly and surel}' edged 
Off all the table-land whence life upsprings 
Aspiring to be immortality. 

As the snake, hatched on hill-top by mischance, 
Despite his wriggling, slips, slides, slidders down 
Hill-side, lies low and prostrate on the smooth 
Level of the outer place, lapsed in the vale : 
So I lose Guido in the loneliness 
Silence and dusk, till at the doleful end, 
At the horizontal line, creation's verge, 
From what just is to absolute nothingness — 
Whom is it, straining onward still, he meets ? 
What other man deep further in the fate, 
Who, turning at the prize of a footfall 
To flatter him and promise fellowship, 



204 SELECTIONS. 

Discovers in the act a frightful face — 
Judas, made monstrous bv much solitude 1 
» * * " * « 

There let them grapple, denizens o' the dark. 
Foes or friends but indissolubly bound 
In their one spot out of the ken of God 
Or care of man. forever and evermore." 

In Caponsacchi's monologue. Browning sets forth the 
dominant idea of the poem, and of his whole message as 
a poet. The idea that the adjusting of the soul to a new 
centre, or its being born anew is the inevitable result of 
its coming in contact with a higher personality. 

The first glimpse of Pompilia awakens the soul of 
Caponsacchi to '" the marvelous dower -of the life it 
was gifted and filled with." In speaking of this starting- 
point of his new lite. Caponsacchi endeavors to explain 
his soul-quickening. He finds it impossible, however, to 
make plain the mystery of regeneration, and he can only 
tell the judges of his consciousness of passing out of a 
life of dalliance and pleasure into another state, wherein 
his church seemed to say for the first time, 

•• But am I not the Bride, the mystic love 
O' the Lamb, who took thy plighted troth, my priest. 
To fold thy warm heart on my heart of stone 
And freeze thee nor unfasten any more.?"' 

The genuineness of his conversion is attested by his 
acquiescence. Like the great apostle he was not disobe- 
dient unto the heavenly vision. He says : 

"Sirs I obeyed. Obedience was too strange. — 
This new thing that had been struck into me 
Bv the look 6' the lady. — to dare disobey 
The first authoritative word. 'Twas God's. 
I had been lifted to the level of her. 
Could take such sounds into my sense. I said, 
' We two are cognizant o' the Master now; 
She it is bids me bow the head: how true. 
I am a priestl I see the function here: 
I thought tne. other way self-secrifice: 
This is the true, seals up the perfect sura. 
I pav it. sit down, silently obey." " 



SELECTIONS. 205 

Caponsacchi is not unmindful of the construction 
which the world will place upon his attempt to free 
Pompilia from the cruel husband, of whom she says : 

" He laid a hand on me that burned all peace, 
All jov, all hope, and last all fear away. 
Dipping the bough of life, so pleasant once, 
In fire which shrivelled leaf and bud alike." 

But the condemnation of the world is naught, in his 
estimation, compared to the picture of the unhappy 
wife, — 

" There at the window stood, 
Framed in its black square length, with lamp in hand, 
Pompilia; the same great, grave, grieftul air 
As stands i' the dusk, on altar that I know, 
Left alone with one moonbeam in her cell. 
Our Lady of all the Sorrows." 

He heeds her pitiful petition, and recounts the events 
of their mournful journey and its tragic end. 

Pompilia's story is the best statement of the entire 
book. She tells it with a simplicity which is the highest 
form of art. 

As if to absolve herself from all blame connected 
with the incidents of her sorrowful life, she states her age: 
" I am just seventeen years and five months old." The 
artless child does not dwell upon her fatal wounds or 
shrmk from death, she only relates the facts : 

" The surgeon cared for me. 

To count m\' wounds, — twenty -two dagger wounds, 

Five deadly, but I do not suffer much — 

Or too much pain, — and am to die to-night." 

It does not occur to the innocent Pompilia that it is 
worth while to waste any part of life, much less its 
last moments, in puzzling over the mysteries of pain and 
death. 

She knows that she will soon be in the presence of 
the Great Judge, and she seems to feel sure that He will 
make all things plain to her simple understanding. 



2o6 SELECTIONS. 

Her dying testimony is merely a review of the cir- 
cumstances of her life, but it is the most eloquent appeal 
which the poet makes to the sympathies of the reader. 

She says: 

•• Ail the seventeen years, 
Not once did a suspicion visit me 
Hq-wt very different a lot is mine 
From anv other woman's in the world. 
The reason must be. 't was by step and step 
It got to grow so terrible and strange. 
These strange woes stole on tiptoe, as it were. 
Into mv neighborhood and privacv. 
Sat down where I sat. laid them where I lay: 
And I was found familiarized with fear. 

I never had a father. — no. nor yet 

A mother: my own boy can say at least, 

• I had a mother whom I keot two weeks'. " 

Not I who iiitie use to doubt » * * I doubt 

Good Pietro. kind Vio ante, gave me birth ? 

They loved me always as I love my babe 

( — Nearly so. that is, quite so could not be — } 

Well, God. vou see I God plants us where we grow. 

It is not that, because a bud is born 

At a wild brier's end. full i' the wild beast's way, 

We ought to oIuc'k and put it out of reach 

On the oak-tree too, — say, ' there the 'oud belongs.' 

She meant well: has it been so ill i' main .- 

That is but fair to ask: one cannot :udge 

Of what has been the ill or well of life, 

The day that one is dying, — Sorrows change 

Into not altogether sorrow-like: 

I do see strangeness, but scarce misery 

Now it is over, and no danger more. 

Yes. everv'oody that leaves life sees all 
Softened and bettered: so with other sights: 
To me at "east was never evening yet 
But seemed far beautifuiier than its day. 
For oast is past."" 

The only harsh words of Pompilia's narrative are con- 
tained in her description of Guido. and her account of 
their marriage : 

Guido Franceschini, — old 
And nothing like so tall as myself. 
Hook-nosed and vellow in a bush of beard. 



SELECTIONS. 20/ 

Much like a thing I saw on a boy's wrist, 
He v;alled an owl and used for catching birds. 
■»*■**«-** 
And straight- way down 
From what's behind the altar where he hid — 
Hawk-nosed and yellowness and bush and all, 
Stepped Guido, cau>j:ht my hand, and there was I 
O' the ch mcel, and the priest had opened book, 
Read here and there, made me say that and this, 
And after, told me I was now a wife. 

* -X- * * * 

All since is one blank. 
Over and ended; a terrific dream." 

Her defense of the young priest who sacrificed his 
good name for her sake, is an exquisite refutation of the 
slander and calumny of the world : 

'' Yes, my last breath shall wholly spend itself 

In one attempt more to disperse the stain. 

The mists from other breath foul mouths have made, 

About a lustrous and pellucid soul; 

So that, when I am gone but sorrow stays. 

And people need assurance in their doubt 

If God yet have a servant, man a friend, 

The weak a savior, and the vile a foe. — 

Let him be present, by the name invoked, 

Giuseppe-Maria Caponsacchi!" 

In accord with her gentle character, the murdered 
Pompilia finally forgives her implacable enemy, and 
expresses the hope that God may mercifully absolve 
Guido from the consequences of his crime : 

"For that most woful man my husband once. 
Who, needing respite, still draws vital breath, 
I — pardon him? So far as lies in me. 
I give him for his good the life he takes, 
Praying the world will therefore acquiesce. 
Let him make God amends, — none, none to me. 

We shall not meet in this world nor the next, 
But where will God be absent? In His face 
Is light, but in His shadow healing too; 
Let Guido touch the shadow and be healed." 

The speeches of Hyacinthus and Bottinius are the 
only prosy recitals of the whole book. However, the 
flimsy arguments and interminable technicalities of their 



208 SELECTIONS. 

accounts lessen the painful effect of the preceding chap- 
ters—a purpose which the poet evidently intended to 
subserve. 

The Poet^s deep and subtle insight into the genius 
of the Church of Rome is more clearly defined m the 
Pope's Soliloquy than in any other statement of the 
case. 

It is questionable whether any work embodies a 
finer representative of its doctrines and polity than the 
godly Pope who replies to the fickle populace ; 

" A voice other than vours 
Quickens my spirit. ' Quis pro'Domino ' 
Who is upon the Lord's side ?' asked the Count, 
I, who write — 

'• On receipt of this command, 
Acquaint Count Guido and his fellows four 
They die to-morrow.'" 

In the Pope's discourse, the Poet's idea of conversion 
IS more distinctly prefigured than in Caponsacchi's 
recital. As he signs Guido's death-warrant, he exclaims : 

' T stood at Naples once, a night so dark 
I could have scarce conjectured there was earth 
Anywhere, sky or sea or world at all: 
But the night's black was burst through by a blaze- 
Thunder struck blow on blow, earth groaned and bore, 
Through her whole length of mountain visible: 
There lay the city thick and plain with spires; 
And, like a ghost disshrouded, white the sea. 
So may the truth be flashed out by one blow. 
And Guido see, one instant, and be saved." 

His delineation of Pompilia's character is an excel- 
lent representation of the seventeenth century ideal of 
womanhood. It presents, in the first instance, a striking 
contrast to the nineteenth century type : 

"It was not given Pompilia to know much, 
Speak much, to write a book, to move mankind, 
Be memorized by who records my time. 
Yet if in purity and patience, if 
In faith held fast despite the plucking fiend, 
Safe like the signet stone with the new name 
That saints are known by, — if in right returned 
For wrong, most pardon for worst injury, 



W126 



SELECTIONS. 209 

If there be anv virtue, any praise, — 

Then will this woman-child have proved — who knows? — 

Just the one prize vouchsafed unworthv me, 

Seven \ears a srardener of the untowaid sround. 

First of the iirst. 
Such I pronounce Pompilia, then as now 
Perfect in whiteness; stoop thou down, my child, 
Give one good moment to the poor old Pope 
Heartsick at having all his world to blame — 
Let me look at thee m the flesh as erst, 
Let me enjov the clean linen garb, 
Not the new splendid \esture'."' 

The great moral of the poem is set forth in the sum 
mary of '' The Book and the Ring : " 

" The lesson that our human speech is naught. 
Our human testimor.y false, our fame 
And human estimation words and wind."' 

This being the' " final state o' the story," why was 
the rough ore of the manuscript rounded into the golden 
ring of verse? To, — 

•■ Twice show truth. 
Beyond mere imagery on the wall, — 
So note bv note, bring music from vour mind, 
Deeper than ever e'en Beethoven dived, — 
So write a book shall mean beyond the facts. 
Suffice the e\ e and save the soul beside." 

To impress upon this analytic, scientific age the idea 
that the incompleteness of life is the prophecy of an 
existence perfect and complete. 

M. LaF. R. 



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